Only Human
by 2JWR6
Summary: High school sweethearts, Buffy and Angel, are about to marry but Buffy's rough past isn't done with her yet. AU. Can be read as a stand-alone or as a sequel to butimbroken's Teenage Anthem.
1. Chapter 1

**Inspired by and written with the permission of Teenage Anthem author butimbroken**

Elizabeth "Buffy" Summers was seventeen years old although she easily passed for younger – something she groaned about often. With her soft, long, blonde hair and big green eyes, she seemed innocent and approachable. Her ever-present smile put everyone at ease. Her sweet nature warmed strangers and friends alike. It didn't matter that she didn't feel sweet or warm. She didn't feel anything anymore, but as long as she pretended, everything would be fine.

That's what she told herself when she met Angel's adoring eyes. He'd seen her at her lowest, being hurt by her own father, and he'd stuck by her: through the hospital stays, Sunnydale's gossip, the trial. Even though her situation resurrected memories of his, Angel's love never wavered.

Buffy tried not to think about the last year, or the year before that . . . or the one before that. She tried not to think at all anymore; her mind seemed capable of forming only melancholy thoughts anyway. Angel deserved better than melancholy; everyone she loved did.

She missed seeing him at school every day. After graduating, Angel started at UC Sunnydale. He loved it, but he surprised her at lunch or after school regularly. He wanted to marry her and get a place together and they would soon.

Angel "proposed" over a year ago. He'd told her he wanted to marry her and then started moving towards that goal. They both worked part-time jobs saving money for their future.

Angel said they'd be married and on their own before her father finished his one year jail sentence. Despite the binders of evidence, everyone had been shocked he had to serve any time inside. Upon his release, she didn't know if her parents would reconcile or if they did, what would happen to Dawn. This year of freedom, of safety, was a miracle. She'd be ungrateful to ask for more. . . .

 **OoOoO**

Leaning against his black convertible, Angel watched kids leaving the school. He spotted Dawn first, or more accurately, she spotted him.

"Angel!"

"Hey Dawn." Her excitement brought a small smile to his lips.

"Buffy didn't tell me you were picking us up today."

"Afternoon class was cancelled."

Connor walked up behind her. "Couldn't stay away huh?"

Angel rolled his eyes. "You're riding with Aunt Jen."

"And witness her flirt with the librarian again? Nah." Seeing Angel and Willow Rosenberg exchange subtle smiles and waves, Connor grinned. Buffy's social skills had rubbed off on his big brother – not a lot, but enough for him to win a handful of friend-like people.

Buffy bounced up into Angel's arms. "Hello lova'."

Chuckling, he caught her easily. "Big hug mean good day or bad day?"

She kissed his cheek. "Means I missed you silly."

Setting her down, Angel took her bag and placed it in the back seat. "Any day now, you'll discover UC Sunnydale can't wait to have you."

Dawn guffawed. "With her record, she'll be lucky to get into community college."

Scowling, Conor kept Dawn from throwing her bag in. "Hey."

Angel stared shocked. "Apologize to your sister."

"It's alright." Buffy nudged Connor's hand aside. "She's not wrong. We all know my chances are slim."

Angel frowned. "Your upper classman grades are fine. You've been working with Willow or me for every test since you transferred here and your test scores were better than mine."

Dawn pressed, "The college counselor says schools look at everything. A reading score doesn't erase her sophomore year of D's and burning down school property."

Buffy slung an arm around her and leaned her head real close. "Which is why it's very important for you to do all the stuff the counselor says: homework, extracurricular activities, and not getting kicked out. Someone has to support me in my old age."

The sisters' laughter didn't erase the brothers' frowns.

Buffy pushed Angel away from the passenger door so she could get in. "Come on gloomy twins. Take me to sugary, caffeinated happiness."

Angel nodded and went to start the car.

Connor opened the back door for Dawn. As she stepped in, he leaned down whispering, "What the hell was that?"

She shrugged and avoided eye contact during the quiet drive.

When they reached her mom's shop, the Espresso Pump, Dawn opened the door first and nearly jogged inside.

Unbuckling his seat belt, Angel asked, "She okay?"

Buffy smiled. "First year of high school, puberty, boy problems – take your pick." She took off her seat-belt. "I'm just gonna give her space until she graduates."

Connor grumbled, "You're too nice" before opening his door and heading inside.

Angel frowned again. "Dawn is too young for boys."

"I could be wrong." She got out and turned around. "But I had boy drama at her age."

He scurried out and around to her side. "How have I not heard this?" He put his hand on her hips drawing her closer.

Reaching up, she pushed her fingers through his hair. "You weren't my first everything, just the most important things." She rested her hand on his cheek.

The tension left his shoulders but his eyes narrowed. "No details?"

"Gotta keep some mystery alive." She stepped back and turned towards the entrance.

"No you don't." He trailed her laughing back.

They saw Dawn and Connor pulling out homework at booth near the back.

Buffy reached out to squeeze Angel's hand. "I'm gonna say hi to mom."

Nodding, he squeezed back before letting go.

She weaved around the counter smiling at the cashier as she entered the door to the art gallery portion of the shop. She walked towards the quiet back office and found her mom hunched over a pile of receipts. "Hey lady. What's up?"

Joyce glanced at the empty gallery behind her. "Did Dawn come with you?"

"Of course, Angel picked us up."

"That's good. That's good." Joyce took in the bursting folders spread across her desk.

"You've been staying late a lot lately. Is everything okay?"

"I was trying to get ahead of it but. . ." She lifted the corner of a binder, "I don't think I can." Frown deepening, she murmured, "I'm not going to be ready."

Buffy's stomach dropped. After the final beating that put her father away, her mother reconnected with an old high school friend. Daniel Holtz was a counselor now. He'd actually been Angel's counselor when a judge mandated he see one.

Angel experienced violence and trauma and when her situation forced him to relive it, he'd voluntarily saw Holtz again.

Her mother's sad eyes reminded Buffy how proud she was of him. Angel might be one of the few damaged souls to break the cycle. Even with Holtz' support, her mother couldn't imagine life without it.

Joyce met her disappointed gaze. She held it for a lifetime before speaking. "He's not going to have any place to go."

In Buffy's mind, that was disputable. He didn't have much family or friends, but he could afford a hotel room until he found a place to rent. Her father wasn't desperate, but her mother was. Buffy heard it in her voice every time she spoke of him.

Joyce sighed. "Please don't make this harder than it has to be."

Buffy crossed her arms. "Wouldn't dream of it." Before his arrest, her father beat all three of them near death. Buffy predicted the next time the police came for him it would be for finally killing a Summers woman.

She held her mother's gaze a moment more before returning to the coffee shop.

Buffy paused at the counter and watched her friends. Despite Dawns earlier 'tude, she was smiling now – so was Angel. Connor said something making them both laugh.

Trying to catch her breath, Dawn waved Buffy over. "Guess what Mr. Stein said to Connors bio class."

Buffy slid in next to Angel and shrugged.

Connor put an egg on the table. "I've been assigned to get in touch with my 'inner mother hen.'"

"I remember that from Hemrey."

Dawn tilted her head. "Weren't you a single mom?"

She nodded. "Uneven number of kids."

"Least they could do is make you a step-parent or something." Connor frowned. "Three parents is better than one."

"Depends on who they are I guess."

Angel covered her hand with his. "Hot sugar?"

She nodded. "Extra foam please."

He kissed her forehead and scooted out behind her.

Dawn twirled the egg on the table. "So you and your partner switch off every other night?"

"I have it this afternoon and then I'm supposed to hand it off to her at the Bronze tonight."

Dawn stared at him. "You're taking your egg baby to a club?"

"It was her idea."

Buffy leaned back in her seat. "She's hoping for a date out of this."

Dawn crinkled her nose. "That's so slutty."

"With an Angelus brother as a partner, I don't blame her." Looking at Connor, Buffy smirked.

Connor blushed and flipped the page in his geometry book.

Dawn retrieved her pencil. "Who is your partner anyway?"

"Jocelyn Feltzer."

"Never heard of her."

Connor shrugged and watched Angel return with coffees for the table.

Buffy curled her fingers around the steaming mug. "You're my favorite."

Sitting down, Angel put his arm around the back of her seat. "You talking to me or the mocha?"

Breathing in the steam, Buffy closed her eyes. "It's a tie."

Fiddling with the ends of her hair, he watched the small, genuine upward curve of her lips. The only thing better than feeling them was watching them.

Dawn huffed, 'Ew, get a room.'"

"mmm."

Connor erased part of his work. "When are you guys getting a place anyway?

Ange's gaze remained fixed on her mouth. "Soon."

"Your dad gets out in a couple months right?"

Buffy nodded. "Weekend after graduation."

Angel caressed her head. "We're looking at places available a couple weeks before and then doing a double celebration graduation day."

Dawn shook her head. "I can't believe you guys are getting married at a courthouse. Your dress is going to look so out of place there."

Buffy leaned back into Angel. "I'm lucky I had a white dress."

"Yeah," Dawn mumbled, "that you wore to homecoming with another guy. Just feeding the baby rumors if you ask me."

Angel caressing hand stilled. "Baby rumors?"

"Everyone at school thinks she's knocked up; that's why you have to get married so fast."

Angel shook his head. "Fast would have been marrying her last year. This is us taking our time – too much time."

"We've been very patient." Buffy kissed his cheek. "Waiting for the trial to end and then Angel adjusting to college and saving up."

He moved his arm onto shoulders hugging her close. "Responsibility is a bitch."

Feeling him firmly kiss her hair, Buffy sighed, "It really really is."


	2. Chapter 2

Buffy and Angel sat in his room finishing their homework.

To keep themselves from distracting each other, Angel sat at his desk while Buffy lay on his bed. Sometimes sensing the other nearby was enough to distract them. Most of the time, though, they managed to wait until their work was finished to enjoy each other.

Buffy glanced up from her history text. Angel had been staring at her for the past few minutes. "You're obviously dying to say something."

"You haven't opened the letter yet."

She flipped a page. "Nope."

"If they accepted you and you never open it, then it doesn't matter because you won't attend either way."

Having closed the book, she looked blankly at its cover. A faded battlefield looked back at her.

He leaned forward so his elbows could rest on his knees, "You won't say yes to an apartment either – yes to the possibility, but no to the reality."

She chewed her bottom lip.

"Is that how you feel about marrying me?"

Her whole body jerked towards him. "What?"

"Something is wrong. I thought you were moving slowly, but I'm worried you're not moving at all – that you don't want to. I have to know . . . is it because of me, us?"

"God no, Angel –" She crawled to the edge of the bed and grabbed his hands. "You're the one thing I am sure of."

He watched his hand brush hair behind her ear. "Then what's holding you back?"

She didn't want to tell him. She didn't want to explain that she wasn't just his. She was Dawn's and her mom's and they still needed her. They needed her more than he did; they probably always would. She didn't know how to leave them.

Her eyes hurt but didn't water. She squeezed his hand. "If I let you open the letter, can we not talk about this now?"

"mmm appeasement." He took in every aspect of her expression. "Guess you were paying attention to your history homework."

Rolling her eyes, she lay back on the bed and reached for her bag.

Angel came over her and started kissing her neck.

She laughed. "Your psych class is working too – 'positive reinforcement'."

His lips found their way to hers. "I want you to think of appeasing me as a very good thing."

She finally felt the crinkled envelope when his lips descended again and he gave her more of his weight. With a moan, she pulled her hands out of the bag and held onto his shoulders.

He felt her move beneath him and he legs come around his waist. Her fingers found the space between his shirt and his jeans and with them, he felt a thick piece of paper pressed against him. He lifted off her just enough to caress her breast with one hand and reach back for the envelope with the other.

Slipping it away from her fingers, he sat back on his knees.

She tried to pull him down again with her legs.

He smiled at the mewling sound she made. "This will just take a minute."

Pouting, she watched him rip open the envelope and pull the letter out quickly. As he read, his face remained neutral. Without noise or node, he folded the letter again and pushed it back in the envelope.

She started to pull him down by the hem of his t-shirt. "Not even a hint?"

He slid it into his back pocket and let her pull him down further. "If I told you, I'd probably want to talk about it and that was not part of the arrangement. "

Her hands wandered beneath his jeans and boxers to squeeze the top of his bum. "This appeasement stuff is tricky."

He nodded gravely. "Sexual manipulation is easier."

She gave him a lingering kiss. "So true." Her hands trailed up his back taking his shirt with it. Soft skin covered hard muscles. Feeling his hand lower to her stomach and hip, she held his hand against her and pushed herself up and across so she sat astride him.

His eyes widened with appreciation. Before he formed a thought, he felt his shirt being pushed up and off. She leaned close so her lips and hips could move against him and his breath shuttered. He'd never get used to her loving him like this.

After gently biting down on his lower lip, she whispered, "Tell me."

With both hands on her hips, he pulled her hard against him. "I'm sorry." His kiss wasn't gentle or sorry. "You've still got a choice; they want you."

She stilled and looked him in the eye.

He didn't say anything more.

She didn't know how she felt so she didn't say anything either.

In silence, the truth settled around them; the future they wanted was possible. Their daydream could be real . . . if she said yes.

 **OoOoO**

Hours later, Angel sat up in bed feeling her breathe beside him. Joyce didn't mind her sleeping over occasionally – neither did his aunt. On nights like this, parting was painful to imagine.

Tucking the blankets securely around her, he left the bed and padded towards the kitchen.

He found Jenny reading with a cup of tea. "Mr. Giles is still giving you homework."

She smiled up at him. "I just love surprising him with my 'depths of knowledge'."

He turned the stove on under the kettle and came up behind her. "The original Dracula." He grunted approval.

"And what are you doing out of your cave this late? Isn't Buffy staying over?"

He nodded. "We opened her letter from UC Sunnydale; she got in."

"That's great. I was wondering when she'd hear from them."

"She got it a while back." He crossed his arms. "I think all the changes coming up freaked her out."

She put a paper napkin in her leather text to save her place. "I was terrified of leaving home at her age. Marriage on top of the college move – it's huge."

"Do you think we should wait on getting married?"

"What does Buffy think?"

Hearing the kettle whistle, he grabbed a mug from the dish rack. "She won't talk about it." He poured the water over a mint tea bag. "She's not ready to."

Jenny watched him watch his tea steep. "It was a while before you and Connor talked to me about anything. There are still some things neither of you are ready to say out loud."

Leaning back against the counter, he looked up from his cup. "How do you do it – not push?"

She thought about his question over several sips of tea. "What you and your brother went through is big. I'm scared of doing more harm than good. Sometimes, I feel that just my presence, reminds you both of everything you're still recovering from."

"I don't know what it's like for her. She doesn't get to recover. She's still living it."

"Because her father it alive."

Angel took the seat across from her and drank half of his tea before speaking again. "He writes them letters – he writes **_her_** letters."

Jenny frowned. "Does he threaten her in them?"

Staring at his mug, Angel shrugged. "He doesn't need to. One look at the envelope has her quiet for days." His scowl deepened. "It's not over for her."

"Which keeps your past alive for you."

"My sister and my mother are dead because I killed my grandfather and uncle . . . because I lost control. I shouldn't get to forget that."

Jenny covered his hand with hers. "More than anything, I hope you're able to find peace. You deserve it -just like Buffy does."

He didn't thing he deserved anything good, but he liked that she did. Her care warmed him. "Thanks Jen." He squeezed her hand.

He washed his mug before returning to Buffy's side. He lay still as she snuggled into him moving his arms to her liking. He didn't know how else to help her, so he wrapped her up in all the physical warmth she desired.

 **OoOoO**

Buffy got up before him slipping out into the dark. When he awoke, he'd assume she went home for clothes and a shower. He didn't like that she wandered the town at night, but he'd accepted he couldn't stop her.

Instead of home, Buffy headed towards Main Street. The sun was still asleep when she reached the right alley. Passed crates and the dumpster, she tried the metal door handle and found it unlocked. She pushed inside

Florescent lights lit the backroom. Glass doors revealed the front part of the gym. This place didn't technically open until the afternoon.

Unzipping her hoodie, she approached the heavy bag and cracked her neck, fingers and shoulders. She threw a few light punches: jab, cross. Jab, cross, hook. Jab, cross, jab, cross, jab, cross. She slid back an inch for a round house. Jab, cross, elbow-strike. She slid forward for a roundhouse to the other side.

Bending back, she let herself fall to her hands. Jumping off with her feet she held a hand stand. From there she floated her legs out, in, forward, back – all the while maintaining balance, control. She let her legs fall forward, touch down, and stand up.

She stretched her arm across her body and then stretched the other.

"Brought the fun stuff today pet, but we best warm up first."

Nodding. Buffy moved onto the hard black floor mat and faced her opponent.

Bleached hair, black clothes, wicked scar, "William the Bloody" intimidated a lot of blokes but not Buffy. She saw through all of it, always.

She saw the truth of him. Once in a while, she let him see the truth of her too.

Slowly, they circled each other on the mat.

Often he made her make the first move. She faked a jab before going for a hook beneath the ribs.

Dropping his elbow down, he blocked the blow. She threw her left leg behind his and pushed him back making him trip on her leg and fall to the mat.

This is where their sparring turned into fighting: she drew her leg back and kicked him in the stomach. On the second kick, he grabbed her leg and pulled hard throwing her balance. Instead of fighting his pull, she went with the movement falling heavy on top of him

He pulled her in close while she straightened up. He head-butted her dazing her for a moment so he could flip them.

His knees dug into her thighs and he drew his fist back for a punch to her face. She contorted to the side so his fist hit the mat. Feeling him shift, she knew he was bringing down the other fist. She shot both arms up to push his arm off course.

Thrusting her hips up, she dislodged his knees. Another thrust and his arms became occupied with catching himself and maintaining his dominant position.

She pushed against his right thigh with all her might and slid her right leg out from under him. With both hands she pulled his right hand to her chest before thrusting up and to the side flipping them again.

Grabbing her hips, he used his superior strength and her inferior weight to throw her up and over his head. When she landed on her back, he turned onto his belly and drew her closer with his elbow under her armpits until her face came in contact with his chest. "We warmed up yet?"

She nodded against his chest and he let up. She crouched to her knees and pushed her hands across her face and into her hair, her sweat matting down fly-aways.

She breathed deep. "Your ribs okay?"

"Barely bruised them." He grinned. "Don't get cautious on me now pet."

"Never."

He moved over to a black duffle and started pulling out what he'd brought.

"Holy shit."

"Told ya' I had the goods."

Slowly, she reached out and touched the broadswords. They were heavy, sharp, and oh-so-deadly. This wouldn't be like sparring with sticks. "They're gorgeous."

"Won them off a prick with a private collection. Can you believe someone hid these beauties away under glass and velvet?"

She picked one up testing its weight.

He smirked. "You know this is incredibly stupid, right?"

"Scared?"

Eyes twinkling, he shook his head. "Just know what it's like to be stabbed is all."

She nodded gravely. "We'll go slow."

"Not too slow I hope."

She stood back and cut the air. "Worse ways to go."

Taking the other, Will stood up as well. On opposite sides of the room, they wielded their swords this way and that adapting to the imbalances, the wobbles.

Feeling their strokes grow smooth, they nodded to each other, met in the middle, and clashed swords.

The clang echoed throughout the room.

Breathing hard, they stared at each other.

"Our bones are rattling love."

She hummed with the vibration and for that moment felt completely awake. She drew her sword back and forth an inch against his and smiled.

An hour passed with breath and metal, thumps and grunts. He nicked her arm; she bloodied his lip. The front room brightened with light and reverberating clashes.

Will pointed his sword at her crouching form. Their blood pounded, their ears buzzed, and breathing actually hurt.

Buffy released her downturned sword.

"Best toddle off to school love."

Before he lowered his sword, she spun and swiped her leg at his. He jumped over it but landed off balance, vulnerable to her second spin and swipe.

He fell hard and immediately felt her blade against his neck.

She crouched beside him frowning. "You go easy with me."

Once she removed the blade, he guffawed, "I do any harder and we'll kill each other."

She grabbed his duffle bag and slid her sword inside. "Just want to win for real."

"And one day you will." He crawled over and placed his sword next to hers. "Just not against me." He winked at her and laughed at her glare. "Can I drop you somewhere?"

"No, but thanks." She ruffled his gelled hair.

"Oiee"

She walked over to her sweatshirt and zipped it on before fixing her bun.

Opening the back door, she turned back towards him and paused. "I got into college."

He smiled wide. "Of course you did. Never a doubt about it."

She smiled weakly and walked out. Reaching the main road, she started to jog. She jogged all the way back to her home on Revello Drive.

When she walked in the front door, she smelled bacon and heard crackling from the kitchen. She found her mom scrambling eggs too. "Wow."

Joyce turned around. "Thought a big breakfast might be nice after your morning run."

Buffy nodded slowly. "I'll get unsweaty and be right back."

"Take your time."

Walking up the stairs, Buffy shook her head. Her mom tended to act motherly when she was doing something terrible . . . or about to. Buffy guessed it was her attempt to balance things out. If only hot meals healed fractures or erased memories.

Passing Dawn in the hall, she saw her excitement. Dawn had smelled the bacon but not the guilt behind it. She practically skipped towards the stairs and Buffy didn't stop her. She didn't know how.

So she locked the bathroom door, turned on the shower, and undressed. She hissed as the sweatshirt clung to her cut.

She entered the shower without pause and washed efficiently but when she exited, her reflection was waiting for her. Her cheekbone shone red from where Will elbowed her face, and she knew by tonight, her thighs would be littered with bruises from where he'd held her down.

These were nothing.

Even the bloodied lip and bruised rib she gave him were nothing compared to _**real** _ injuries from _**real** _ fights. They both knew the difference; she just wished the rest of her world did.

Parting her hair to the side and applying makeup took care of the cheekbone. Pants and a fitted long-sleeve sweater took care of the rest.


	3. Chapter 3

When Buffy returned to the kitchen, she found Dawn heartily enjoying the guiltfast.

Joyce smiled gratefully and handed Buffy a plate. Yesterday's conversation was still just between them. If telling Dawn would change their mom's mind, Buffy would have told her immediately. But it wouldn't . . . all it would do it ruin everyone's breakfast.

As they ate together, Buffy relaxed into numbness. She could smile and chat and not hate anybody –not fear anything. Feelings were for sparring; there she could let them loose and feel stronger for it. The rest of her life was too fragile for real emotions. She understood why her brain turned them off.

She washed dishes with her sister and then Joyce drove them to school. As soon as the car stopped, Dawn ran towards her friends. Having chosen to sit in the back, Buffy unbuckled at a normal pace.

Joyce sighed before trying to meet her eyes in the mirror. "Do you want to do anything special for your birthday this weekend?"

Buffy lifted her bag off the floor. "I think Angel is planning something." She waited for her mother to nod before leaving.

Her birthday was one more thing Buffy tried not to think about. Last year had been a big, awkward silence as her friends and family tried not to talk about the upcoming trial and possible outcomes. The night's "high point" was opening an unmarked gift containing a dead rat on a bed of forget-me-nots. Lesson learned: when you're willing to testify against someone indicted for violent crimes, don't open unmarked packages. The family threw away several such packages over Christmas. Buffy put "wondering what was inside them" on her list of unthinkables.

Shaking off unthinkable thoughts, she headed for Xander and Willow. They were chatting on a bench outside the main entrance.

"Buffster."

Willow smiled, "I saw Angel picked you up yesterday. He's so sweet."

She nodded indulgently. "He's a sweetie."

Xander stood up giving his seat to Buff. "Enough about that guy. Who's ready for the history quiz?"

Buffy pulled out her notebook which was already open to a page of highlighted notes. "Here, cram away. I'm pretty sure they're stressing me more than helping at this point."

Taking them from her he bowed, "Goddess."

Willow nudged her. "Look at you, girl with the notes."

Watching Xander step away to start memorizing, Buffy sighed. "This college thing is your fault you know."

"Angel finally wore you down, huh?"

"The acceptance is out of the envelope. Time to make decisions I guess."

"You're so smart. You deserve to go to college."

"Maybe . . . I remember Angel's enrollment paperwork . . . on-campus housing or off-campus, what size meal plan, any meal plan . . ."

"I thought you and Angel were looking at places together near campus."

She nodded. "Every place just seems too far from mom and Dawn."

"They'll be okay."

"Yeah, maybe."

The bell rang and they both stood.

Willow touched her arm insisting, "Your mom won't let him come back."

Buffy looked at her blankly. "She never divorced him."

Frozen, Willow watched her friend disappear inside the school. They rarely talked about her family situation but Willow had assumed Mrs. Summers divorced Mr. Summers after his conviction. She'd also assumed Buffy's reluctance to open the UC Sunnydale letter was due to fear of rejection. But really Buffy was afraid of leaving her family alone with a monster.

Her friend carried the weight of the world on her shoulders. Willow didn't know how to relate. She didn't know how to help either.

 **OoOoO**

Jenny regularly had déjà vu seeing Buffy sit next to Connor in the computer lab. Last year, Angel sat where he did. He and Buffy passed notes, glances, smiles. For the first time, she'd seen her nephew behave like a normal, un-traumatized teenager. Her family owed Buffy a great debt.

Remembering last night's conversation with Angel, she wished she knew how to repay it.

Half asleep, Connor kept blinking at the screen.

Buffy glanced over. "How's step one going?"

He shook his head slowly. "This is some kind of sick social experiment."

"The assignment or morning classes generally?"

"What was Jenny thinking I could do this?"

Buffy smiled. "Bet she's thinking differently now."

He rubbed his eyes. "I stay late almost every day finishing this stuff."

She finished her program line then scooted her chair close to his. "Okay, let's see what we've got." She squinted. "I think you're in line 9. We needed to be in 8. Press return then 8, 4, SY."

"Now it looks familiar."

She scanned the bound copy of instructions. "Willow gets me out of those loops all the time."

He followed her directions and the computer started populating lines upon lines of numbers. "Hurts my eyes."

"Mine too. But this is good; this was the goal." She tilted her head. "Kinda."

"Too many numbers?"

"Maybe?"

The bell rang.

His shoulders slumped. "Torture is done. Nap next."

"Don't you have English next period?"

"Speak the language, finished the book – it's nap hour."

She chucked as they pulled up their bags together. Passing Jenny they smiled and walked into the hall.

Connor paused before turning towards his next class. "That school is smart for wanting you. They're lucky to get you Buffy."

"Thanks. Any chance you could keep th-"Buffy did a double take down the hall. A very large jock had grabbed onto Dawn's arm and wasn't letting go.

Buffy dropped her bag and hurried over.

"Come on won't you just think about it? You can't just say no like that."

Buffy threw a right hook to his kidney following up with a jab to his nose.

Released, Dawn jumped back. She watched Brian cough and fall to his knees.

"You bitch." He grabbed for Buffy's legs. Thumbs digging into his neck, she pushed him back against the wall. Blood started to drip from his nose. She dropped to her knees and shot out a hand against his throat. "She can say no any way she likes."

Annoyed at his pulling to free himself, she punched him hard in the gut.

"Buffy!" Dawn cried.

He slumped to the ground and curled into the fetal position. "Who are you?"

She pulled his head up by the hair bringing his face close to hers. "I'm her sister."

When she released his hair, his head hit the ground with a "thunk."

A teacher came sunning down the hall. From behind it looked like Buffy was kneeling to help him. "Is he alright? What happened?"

The incident had gathered a crowed but no one said anything.

Connor came up behind Buffy looking at the anxious teacher. "You should probably call the nurse."

Nodding, the teacher yelled at the student nearest to bring the nurse over.

Buffy stood slowly and walked over to her bag. Without looking at anyone, she went to her next class.

Connor stared after her.

Dawn rubbed her arm. "What's wrong with her?"

Connor turned towards her. "You were trying to get away."

"So? Now everyone thinks we're freaks."

He watched the other students quietly scatter. "And untouchable."

"Guh!" She huffed over to the restroom.

Connor ended up helping the nurse move him to her office. Brian didn't say a word about Buffy – whether from embarrassment or fear . . .

Since moving to Sunnydale, Buffy had always been his brother's girl so everyone knew not to mess with her. The infamous Liam Angelus was the source of that fear. Today, though, Buffy put fear in someone, fear of the bodily harm she could inflict without hesitation. It was the lack of hesitation that frightened Connor.

 **OoOoO**

Buffy sat in her next class staring at her hands. Her knuckles were swollen and speckled with blood from Brian's nose. They looked like her father's knuckles. William would be proud. Angel would be horrified. Buffy was neither . . . or both?

She couldn't look away from her hands.

Voices . . . teacher . . . students.

"Wherever you're going next year, whatever comes next for you, you'll need to know how to express yourself. Think of this final essay as practice. You need to be clear on what you want to communicate before you can communicate clearly. By now, you know what your topic is, what you're writing about, but as you work on your draft, I challenge you to form a strong theses, why you're writing about this – believe in it and make me believe it."

Murmurs . . . papers rustling . . . desks squeaking.

Apparently, they were forming groups, passing papers, reading each other's work, making edits or comments. Buffy looked passed her hands to the notebook beneath. She'd been working on this paper all semester, but she couldn't remember what she'd written about. Somehow, a trio formed around her. She passed her notebook to someone and someone passed a notebook to her.

It was open, there was writing; all these letters should add up to something. Through the blur, she made out a few words here and there. Frustrated, she made her fists clench – BRIGHT PAIN brought the words into focus but now her ears buzzed.

 _Soccer._ The essay she was reading had something to do with soccer. Wait, maybe not . . . maybe the soccer ball was a metaphor. She flipped the page looking for other "soccers."

Talking . . . someone was talking to her . . . about her paper, the one she couldn't remember. Buffy heard the voice but couldn't understand the words over the buzzing.

She nodded.

Hand! Buffy flinched as her peripheral vision registered a hand approaching. It took the notebook away. More talking . . . the hand's owner was talking to her - presumably about the paper. She nodded and tried to smile.

Everyone was talking but she heard them less and less as if she was moving further away while sitting down.

People were moving: standing, rearranging desks. The bell must have rung. One more class until lunch. She had a class, a place to go, to be. Putting her notebook back in her bag, she walked out of the room and took the first exit.

 _Air_ ; not enough.

Glancing around, she threw her bag over the gate and then flipped herself over it too.

She grabbed her bag and walked across the street and over several blocks. Pulling her sleeves over her hands, she wished for a moment without people or cars. As if the universe heard her, a cemetery came into view.

Not seeing any funeral in progress, she walked in and let out the breath she'd been holding.

Maybe she'd been holding that breath all day, but here, surrounded by green grass, pretty rocks and silence, Buffy could finally let it out.

The dead didn't scare her; the living did . . . and without them, her senses returned. Gradually, her vision widened and the buzzing stopped. She started to feel the pain in her hand and the brisk air flowing into her lungs.

She felt her reopened cut sticking to her sleeve and her cheekbone throb.

More than anything, she felt the morning sun begin to warm her.

Coming across a mausoleum, she sat on its steps and let her whole body sink into the warm cement.

She closed her eyes and listened to trees rustle and birds chirp carelessly.

Minutes passed and then she knew what she wanted.

She reached into her bag and pulled out her cell phone. Pressing his speed dial, she listened to it dial and ring.

"Buffy."

 ** _His_** voice.

"Angel."

"Not in the mood for PE today?"

"I ran this morning."

"So you did." They both knew coach Teesk wouldn't care about that, but he also didn't take attendance.

Closing her eyes again, she smiled. "How's your sculpture coming?"

"Can't tell if it looks worse or better than the painting. I don't know. It look different."

"I can't wait to see it." He hadn't brought the painting home yet, so she had no idea what he was creating.

"Well at the end of year show, you'll see all of it."

"I hate that I won't see you tonight."

"Or tomorrow night. I'm on Thursday shift too."

"Be honest, you asked for it to keep yourself from cracking about Friday."

Angel laughed. "You found me out. I'm helpless against your inquiring eyes. A man must protect his secrets."

"I'll just have to plan a sneak attack."

"Please don't."

They both laughed.

"Your birthday is going to be fun this year. It's been decided."

Her way of talking was rubbing off on him. She wiped away a stray tear. "As long as we're together, it'll be great."

"Call me tonight?"

Rubbing her eyes, she nodded. "mmhmm."

"I love you."

"Love you too."

"I gotta get to my next class."

"Me too."

They said goodbye, hung up and both felt better for the call.

When she heard his voice, she believed in a future of good things.

Fear lay in her past. Now, when she let herself feel, she felt anger. Someday though – someday she'd feel good things again. Someday she might feel peace. That's what he was for her. It's what she wanted to be for him too which is why she had to do better. She couldn't lose control. . .

Patting down her hair, wiping her eyes again and reapplying makeup, Buffy prepared to return to battle. It wasn't a batts of fists, unfortunately. It was a battle of pretense – one she couldn't afford to lose.


	4. Chapter 4

Buffy returned to her locker to grab her lunch. Some kids stared; some whispered, but most didn't notice her.

She met her friends on the lawn near the school. Xander passed her a notebook. "Your notes upped my likely D to at least a C+. Much thanks."

Jess sighed at a pair of girls chatting about dresses. "The real test is getting a date for prom."

Oz and Willow smiled over a bag of chips.

Xander sighed. "Dude, don't stress me – that's months away."

"6 weeks my friend. Barely enough time to wear down Miss Chase."

"No way."

"Worked for Homecoming."

Willow frowned. "Does her letting you driver her limo count as a date?"

"I picked her up and dropped her back home; sounds like a date to me."

Xander looked to Buffy. "What are the chances you and Angel will break up in time for prom?"

"My friend from Hemery wants to visit again. She could be your date."

"You mean Faith with the—" He started to gesture a bosom then stopped. "That would be—I mean that'd—It'd."

Jess interrupted his friend's stutters. "What no pity date for me? I can be pitiful."

Willow patted his hand. "We believe you."

Xander bowed to Buffy. "My savior."

"Faith is always up for a party." She ripped out a page from her notebook and scribbled some numbers. "Give her a call."

Taking the page she offered, he smiled smarmily at Jess.

By the end of lunch, Buffy was certain none of them heard about her morning's misadventure. If she was lucky, she'd make it the whole day without someone bringing it up. Lacking answers or explanations, Buffy really wanted to be lucky.

 **OoOoO**

Angel walked through the door and headed towards his room passing Connor with a nod.

After he put on his uniform, he went to the kitchen and stood in front of an open fridge.

Connor looked at him over his soda. "Is something going on that I don't know about?"

"What do you mean?" Angel sniffed a box of chow mein.

He shrugged. "Buffy just got into college, 'bout to turn 18, and neither of you seem thrilled – just tense."

Grabbing a fork, Angel turned to lean against the counter. "I don't know what's going on. I think she's trying to make a decision, but I'm not sure about what."

"You have asked, right?"

He nodded. "If it's me she's deciding about, I understand why she don't want to talk about it yet."

"You think she'd break up with you?"

Standing away from the counter, he shrugged and took his chow mein to his room.

 **OoOoO**

Buffy walked into the packed studio. The afternoon sun was enough to light the front room.

Parents, kids, and equipment slowed her progress to the back.

She put her backpack in a cubby and pulled out a pair of sweats and a loose t-shirt. She changed quickly and put her other clothes in her bag.

Turning around, she saw Will staring at her hands.

"Right then." He sighed and grabbed tape from his cubby. He nodded for her to sit on the bench.

When he sat in front of her, she held out her hands so he could wrap them.

"You punch lightly today – barely hit the bags."

She nodded.

"I'll coach the adults tonight. Just do inventory on the gis, clean the gloves and then go home and ice these." He stood and put the tape away.

With the t-shirt hiding her cut and the tape covering her bruises, she looked unscathed. "You're not mad?"

"Whoever it was, they deserved it."

Buffy followed him into the front studio with head held high. She signed in the elementary schoolers, greeted parents and led the class through a series of exercises and games.

Junior highers trickled in as she finished with a game of tug of war.

Will put away the rope and rubber balls while Buffy signed in the next group and greeted the next round of parents, some picking up, some dropping off.

A couple of the adults made their way to the back room for one-on-one training with Adam, the gym's owner.

Will helped Buffy pull out the heavy bags and after a few laps around the studio, the kids warmed up with some punches. She demonstrated the techniques giving only light taps like Will advised.

One class of girls, then one class of boys. The sky darkened and adult classes began.

Usually both Will and Buffy assisted Adam with those. Tonight, Will told him she'd be unpacking the new gis and making room for them in the shelves.

They weren't allowed to fight outside the gym. If he knew what she'd done at school, Adam would take away some of her shifts.

It wasn't self-defense. It wasn't even defense of Dawn. Everything after Brian released Dawn was something else . . . _revenge?_

Whatever it was, Adam wouldn't approve. He said the best fighters knew how to avoid violence off the mat. If his students weren't working to be the best, they shouldn't be in his gym.

Buffy respected Adam - even feared him a little. He was one of the best: the fastest, strongest, and most skilled. He seemed unbeatable.

While unpacking boxes, she watched him spar with the large male students. He took them down in seconds, one after another. She envied those smooth throws.

How could she think of college when this was where she wanted to be? Learning how to survive anyone . . . anything . . .

 **OoOoO**

Angel patrolled the athletic building armed with a flashlight and walky-talky.

Campus security patrolled buildings until closing time, made sure kids left, shut off the lights and locked the doors. Students could call Security to request a ride from a party or for help escorting suspicious individuals off campus. For this reason, their official vehicle smelled faintly of bodily fluids. Rolling down the windows lessened the stench and sobered their passengers. Some of his coworkers swung by fast food drive thrus for the drunk ones, but Angel never did.

After securing the sports complex, he moved onto the fine arts building. With its theater and gallery, it was his favorite building to secure. Turning off the lights and locking the door felt like taking care of something important.

After nearly a year on this job, he knew all the art and placards by heart. Something new on the community board caught his eye.

 ** _Be Awed by Art. Study Abroad in Italy._**

The flyer had pictures of statues, fountains, painted ceilings as well as a list of courses offered. Some were in the summer; others started in the fall.

He'd heard of these kinds of programs but hadn't considered them a possibility for himself. He had a fiancé, a life here, rent to afford . . . . but what if he didn't anymore?

 _What if Buffy didn't want to marry him?_

No apartment with Buffy. No one filling his time . . . just a big hole where their plans had been.

This flyer looked like hope. Even if he didn't start a life with Buffy, he could still have things to look forward to.

He tried on the idea of studying sculpture and painting in Italy.

His phone rang and echoed loudly in the hall. "Hello?"

"Any hooligans givin' you grief?"

He smiled at the protective tone of her voice. "Quiet night. The only trouble maker so far was a bird in the gym."

"Poor birdy."

"Couldn't exactly escort him out. Maintenance will try and find the nest tomorrow." He walked away from the flyer and continued patrolling the halls.

"One of the kids found a potato bug behind the mat mile today."

"Guessing you didn't kill it."

"Already dead, but you're right: someone else had to move it. Have you seen those things? Their huuuuge – big as an eyeball."

"Gross." He chuckled and locked another classroom.

She stayed on the phone with him for two whole buildings. They talked about homework and television, creepy animals, weird songs – anything other than what was going on with her, with them.

When they hung up, he had a smile on his face but no hope in his heart. He didn't want Italy – not nearly as much as he wanted a life with her. He didn't want new people places or new people. He wanted her. He didn't know how he would stop. He didn't think he could.

 **OoOoO**

Dawn and Buffy didn't speak at breakfast.

Joyce pretended not to notice.

She made coffee. She read the paper and she ignored her daughter's oversized sweatshirt and the other's pointed glares.

Asking her children what was going on with them never ended well. She couldn't get invested in their school plays, solos, or schookwork. Inevitably, their triumphs would be ruined by her life – as for their lows? She couldn't lessen their pain when she had so much of her own – she couldn't even listen to it.

She kept them clothed, housed and fed, and sometimes that felt like too much. Soon, though, she'd have a partner again and one less child to worry over. She could hardly wait for Buffy to be Angel's responsibility.

 **OoOoO**

Before first bell, Buffy sat in the library finishing her Algebra II assignment.

She sensed Giles glance over occasionally, but she didn't look up. She didn't want to answer questions or small chat.

Like Willow, Giles looked at her and saw a glowing future ahead. They saw college and travel and a life a part from violence. She couldn't tell them those roads seemed closed to her. Violence looked like the brightest path; she felt tired of pretending otherwise.

The bell rang before she finished the last equation. She repacked her bag and nodded to Giles on her way out. He nodded back. Librarians knew how to respect another's silence.

 **OoOoO**

First classes passed without incident. Principal Flutie didn't call her into his office; kids didn't stare.

By the time, she retrieved her lunch from her locker, she nearly forgot about Brian. She found her friends on the courtyard benches.

"Hey Buff."

While Xander looked up at her, Jess stole a handful of chips from him. "Is it true you beat Brian C. to a pulp?"

"Misunderstanding."

Xander took half of Jess's chocolate bar. "I heard you threatened to break his knee caps."

Jess frowned. "You mean she threatened to get Angel to beak em'."

"Nah, Buff does her own bone-bustin', right?"

Willow looked at her. "You didn't really threaten him, did you?"

She sighed. "No threats; no bone-busting." She started to peel an orange keeping her sweatshirt pulled over her knuckles.

The boys looked disappointed. "There goes a perfectly good super hero story: miniature blonde hulks out at 18."

She felt her lips wanting smile. "I'm not 18 yet."

Jess leaned forward, "If you do get super strength this weekend, you will tell us right?"

"You'll be might first call."

Xander shook his head. "If I wake up with super powers, I'm rootin' for invisibility."

Jess took a slice of Willow's apple. "Just you or anything you touch too?"

"Why would I want to make stuff invisible? Then I wouldn't be able to find anything."

"So you don't have to go everywhere naked is why."

"Good point."

The boys continued fine-tuning their super power wish list. Besides Oz, Willow was the only one not smiling.

She spoke to low to Buffy. "What did happen yesterday?"

Hearing her concern, Buffy aimed for honesty. "Nothing I can't handle."

Willow imagined herself confronting a jock; it unnerved her. Even with self-defense training, Buffy was still a petite girl. . . especially with everything with her dad . . . she must have been terrified.

If she didn't want to talk about it with her, she hoped she talked about it to Angel. He'd listen and say all the right things. He seemed like a good boyfriend.

It didn't have to be her against the world – not anymore.

Buffy debated the merits of x-ray vision and the power of flight with Jess and Xander. She liked the idea of flight. She liked the idea of teleportation more. Silently, she picture how many problems that would solve. She'd live with Angel knowing she could be home in an instant if they needed her. She could spar longer and more frequently with the travel time cut to zero. Teleportation is the closest she could come to being in two places at once which is what she wanted more and more.

She needed one Buffy to fight her demons and another to convince the world she didn't have any.

The bell rang. Algebra came and went. History happened so did Chemistry and soon enough, she was back in library for study hall.

She had time enough to edit her essay and complete her math assignment. Willow would help her with their chem lab over the weekend. Other kids passed notes or napped the period away, but Buffy needed her homework over with. She had other things to learn and wanted to start as soon as possible.

The final bell rang and the other kids sluggishly packed up and left.

Buffy skimmed her history reading until the library was empty save for her and Giles.

He rolled out a wooden apparatus with pads in strategic locations – targets, abdomen, upper arm – for blocking blows.

Buffy took out tape from her bag and wrapped her hands before removing her hoodie. To warm up, she jumped in place a couple times and stretched her arms.

Finally, Giles addressed her, "When you strike, maintain contact for at least two seconds – just to start. Speed protects you but power hurts them. You need both."

She nodded and approached her faceless opponent.

Giles directed her through a series of strikes: arm—face, stomach; other arm, face, stomach, stomach; arm -face, stomach; other arm, face stomach, stomach.

Her forearms blocked, her elbows struck and her first pummeled. She held each point of contact for "one Sunnydale, two Sunnydale."

Her eyes stayed locked on the neck region. That's where her opponent would give away movement. That where warnings came from.

She heard Will's voice in her head, _Stay alert. Hear the room. If there are others around, track them._

She asked herself where Giles was. In between strikes, she listened for his movements. She felt him walking behind her towards the counter.

After 5 minutes, a timer went off, and she sped up her routine holding contact for only "One Sunnydale."

Five minutes later, another timer went off, and she sped up further. Her arms felt like weights and her knuckles felt numb from punching the center pad straight on. Jab-cross, stomach, stomach.

She felt beyond pain, beyond limits. When the timer went off again, she didn't stop. Instead, she focused on pummeling the center pad. The sound of her fists hitting pad, the creak of the wood stand – someone behind her! She spun and struck.

Giles blocked the strike. He looked shocked . . . so did she.

Her body had defended her personal space without wondering who breached it. "Sorry I. . ."

"Forgot where you were? It's alright." Giles stepped back. "I hadn't meant to startle you."

"Guess I'm just jumpy."

Eyes full of thoughts, he waited for her to finish tightening her pony tail. "Prepared for some hanging sit ups?"

Smiling, she approached the bar he'd installed in the book cage. "You're just trying to tire me out before our match." She grabbed onto the bar and lifted herself up and brought her legs up through her arms to hook over the bar.

Along with the bar, Giles had secured a thick mat beneath it.

She let herself hang; her pony tail hovered a foot above the mat. She crunched up slowly and uncurled again.

This time it was Giles she heard in her head: _Slow and steady. It's not a race to the finish. The challenge is to finish. Smooth movements. Don't relax, but don't tense too much. Hold the contraction throughout._

The real Giles unlocked the metal cabinet and started pulling out equipment.

After the 20th crunch, she grabbed onto the bar and slid her legs out and down. She left the cage and found Giles padding up.

He nodded to the second chest and helmet pad. Will would laugh to see her in this get up. He'd also be surprised she had training other than him and Adam.

Putting on her gear, she felt renewed gratitude that Giles was helping her. He kept her grounded.

Giles handed her a long staff and stepped back with his own.

They bowed to each other and then began to circle.

Her knuckles hurt less gripping the staff. They liked having a purpose again.

With both handling holding up the staff, she pushed one end forward. He blocked and the impact of wood on wood reverberated through her bones.

He brought up the other side of his staff and she barely matched it.

Even after all her training, she struggled to match his strength. He still had the height advantage. He pushed down and her elbows started to bend. Sidestepping, she swiped the end of her staff at his ribs.

Anticipating his counterstrike, she brought her staff to her hip absorbing the blow.

He stepped forward; she stepped back.

He aimed at her head at the same time she ducked to his the back of his knees.

He fell backward. She slid to her knees behind his head and pushed her staff into his through – hard. He tapped twice against the ground and she let up.

He sat up coughing. "Good follow through."

She sat back on her heels. "It's not over till it's over."

He stood carefully frowning. "Our time together was meant to lessen your anxiety. I wonder if it's worsened it."

She recognized that he was talking to himself as much as to her. For the past year he'd been enthusiastic about her training. Only one thing had changed. "You heard about yesterday." She stood up too and took off her pads.

He did the same and gathered their staffs. "I'm not here to judge you."

"But you think I went too far."

"Do you?"

She watched him lock up the weapons.

Giles stood in the cage doorway with his hands in his pockets, waiting.

She sighed. "I wasn't upset. At most annoyed? I remember thinking I wanted him to stop and then he was."

". . . . He was what?"

"Stopped."

He nodded to himself absently . . . "I confronted violence as an adult –first in a recreational setting. There, control was coached as a technique for success, a way to keep the upper hand as it were. . ."

He frowned at the floor with slightly hunched shoulders. "For one raised in violence, it must mean much more. You were born to a life with demons. Control is how you'll keep them at bay."

He looked at her with clear eyes, "Yesterday is not my concern. Tomorrow is."

After a moment, she tightened her pony tail again. "I don't know why you're helping me." She smiled tightly. "That much of a menace, huh?"

"Quite the opposite." He started to gather their pads from the floor. "You befriended our most isolated student your first week here. Most of the town had never heard him speak, but you made him laugh – despite the fact you had just as much cause to shut down as he did."

Placing the folded bundle on the table, he straightened, "You're destined to do much good in the world." He turned to her. "And I'd like to help."

Her smile relaxed but wavered. "What is it you think I'll be doing?"

"Whatever you think needs to be done."

He sounded earnest, and she didn't understand it. She'd expected a lecture but he gave her prophecy instead. Where she felt doom, he saw destiny. If he continued training her, would she become delusional too?


	5. Chapter 5

Sweaty and thoughtful, Buffy stopped by her locker to swap out some books. The halls were empty save for –"Dawn? What are you still doing here?"

"Mom doesn't want me walking home alone and I missed the bus."

"Okay, well, I'm good to go. You want to come to the studio with me or part ways at mom's work?"

Dawn just shrugged.

"I'm surprised Connor didn't walk with you. He's always here late."

"He's not talking to me."

"Right . . . it wouldn't be that you're not talking to him, would it?"

Another shrug.

Buffy slung an arm around her. "You know he'd never leave you hangin'. You're like a sister to him."

Their pace faltered as they each remembered what happened to Katherine Angelus. Connor and Angel had had a sister and parents. Now all they had was an aunt and the Summer's girls.

Dawn stepped out of the half hug. "You smell."

"It's gonna get a lot worse before it gets better. By shower time, I'll have all kinds of people's sweat on me." She stepped real close to Dawn making the youngest Summers laugh and squeal away.

"You're gross."

Having earned a rare smile, Buffy decided to quit while she was ahead. They walked in relaxed silence for a couple blocks.

When her smile faded, Dawn took a deep breath. "Don't you get tired of fighting?"

Dawn never fought their father – not with fists or teeth or projectiles. Buffy defended the family; Dawn administered the first aid.

"It's different . . . fighting now, it's about something else . . . I wish I could explain it better."

"You're not scared of getting hurt?"

Buffy flexed her battered hands. "I'm more scared of being scared if that makes sense. I need to know I can protect myself and anyone else."

"You flattened Bran like he was nothing."

"Anyone who treats others like that _is_ nothing." She risked a glance at her sister. "I'm sorry for embarrassing you though. I should have let you handle it your way."

"I don't know what my way it."

"You'll figure it out." Buffy started to redo her ponytail smoothing back the fringe. "You're always welcome to train with me, but I'm guessing the Dawn-strategy will be a lil' less bloody."

She nodded strongly.

The Espresso Pump came into view.

A block away, Buffy slowed to a stop and turned to Dawn and brushed her long, brown hair off her shoulder. "Whatever happens next, I've still got your back."

"Rain check on the hug?" Dawn wrinkled her nose at Buffy's workout clothes.

She chuckled. "Definitely."

They walked to the coffee shop together, but Buffy didn't enter.

Dawn watched her continue down Main Street. Their mother never minded Buffy walking alone. Everyone saw she could take care of herself. Remembering the way she handled Brian, Dawn couldn't believe they were related. Buffy was like a super hero now and Dawn was still just . . . Dawn.

With slumped shoulders, she entered the shop. She didn't see her mom, but Connor sat at their usual booth hunched over a notebook.

Looking at him she felt guilt, pity, comfort, annoyance – overwhelmed, she turned into the gallery.

It currently featured oil horror paintings. Certain local artists depicted drug dealers, muggers, drunken teenagers – even Sunnydale's mayor as demonic. In vivid, bumpy color, vampires, werewolves, witches and creature Dawn had never heard of covered the walls. Her mother had featured the niche artists on a whim but their work became wildly popular. Paintings were bought regularly so new paintings were displayed regularly which kept the town coming back for more. Social ills and local news had never been so talked about.

Dawn tried to imagine her life as one of these paintings. Her father would be the dark-long reptilian demon . . . her mother the fearful human who summoned him forth -she hadn't meant to; it'd been an accident. Her sister, though, would be a brave warrior trying to protect them and send him back to hell. So what did that make Dawn? Was she just a bystander or doomed demon spawn?

"I don't know how you do it Joyce." An older woman's voice floated from the other side of a partition. "This place is humming."

"Debt and determination can get a person far."

"Well, I'm glad you're taking some time off then. You need to recharge those batteries."

"And pray the employees remember to lock up at night."

"It's good what you're doing. Spending time with your daughter and helping her get packed for college – these are memories you'll have for a lifetime."

Dawn's brows reached her hairline. So that's why their mom had been stressed lately. She'd been making space for time off this summer – to help Buffy. She smiled to herself. Spending time with her mom and sister – non-stressed, family time? It'd make the thought of Buffy leaving so much easier; it'd mean their family wasn't ending or getting weaker; it was just growing up. For the first time, Dawn felt happy for her sister. Maybe there were good times ahead – for all of them.

She turned back into the coffee shop and her eyes immediately sought out Connor. She joined him at their booth and pulled out her homework without a word. When he looked up at her, she just smiled, and he smiled back.

 **OoOoO**

When Angel found out he didn't have to cover his friend's shift after all, he knew exactly where he wanted to go.

Doyle shook his head at his friend's monster grin. "Showing such 'appiness in de face of me suffrin'"

His grin didn't dim. "Thought it was _Fiona_ who has mono."

"But it's me who'll die from missin' 'er."

"It's been an honor then."

"You bet it has boyo. Noble heroes like meself are rare indeed."

Angel swung his backpack onto his shoulder and patted Doyle on the back. "See you next week."

"Would da I lived tat long!"

Walking out to his car, Angel saw the sky was nearly dark. They wouldn't have much time, but still, his heart beats accelerated with anticipation.

Within thirty minutes, he was parked outside her work. He watched her through the windows finishing the young adults' course. There weren't many kids tonight and he didn't see any cars parked for the next class.

If no one showed, he could have her all to himself. He tried not to hope too hard.

Seeing the kids scatter from their huddle to seek out their rides, Angel got out of his car and went inside.

As soon as he stepped over the threshold, her eyes were on him – her unbelieving, excited eyes.

"Angel."

"Buffy."

He walked to the edge of the floor mat – closest he could get with his shoes still on.

Will picked up a wooden stick by her feet. "Been a while mate. You joining us tonight?"

"Yeah."

Straightening, Will saw the unbreakable eye contact between the lovebirds and rolled his eyes. "Lose the shoes and jacket and come on the mat then."

Angel smirked playfully at her before walking to the wall to shed his coat, over shirt, shoes and socks. A tank and slacks wasn't ideal gear, but he'd made it work before. He so rarely got a chance to crash one of her classes that he forgot to keep a pair of shorts or sweats in his car.

He stepped on to the mat feeling hugged by her smile. He could have kept Doyle's shift and overtime pay. He could have taken the night off to study or work on his art project. But if he hadn't come, he wouldn't have realized she wanted him here. Her eyes twinkled at him like they used to when he first met her. They crinkled as if just his existence granted her deepest wish.

Maybe he _could_ ask her what's wrong because maybe it wasn't about them. She couldn't smile at him so adoringly if she didn't love him like he loved her.

She really was his fiercest hope come true and when her gaze followed him, he felt like hers.

If they weren't in her place of work, he would have kissed her. Instead, he sat down and started stretching his legs. She joined him.

Surprising her here turned out to be the best decision he could have made.

A couple other adults trickled in. Adam greeted them with a nod and began the warm up. Run – drop—army crawl. Run – roll – army crawl. Run – roll – roll – jumping jacks – back roll – back roll – army crawl – push ups – stretch.

Every glimpse he had of her reminded him how incredible she was. She wasn't just fast or flexible. She'd developed serious stamina and control of her body.

He might have brute strength going for him, but she had everything else – including the element of surprise. Even he could be trickled by the small package and forget what she could do with it.

Adam used Will to demonstrate a few related throws. The class partnered up to try for themselves. Angel started with the largest guy in class, Skip, but since they changed partners every two minutes, eventually he did get a chance to feel Buffy throw him. He loved it. She threw him several times and made it extra tricky to throw her. "Stay tight; the smaller your opponent, the easier it is for them to slip through." And that's exactly what she did until he forced himself to treat her like an equal. She went down fast and he pinned her down hard – like Adam instructed, "take their air, take their space, and take control of the situation."

He glanced at her face and found her smiling.

"I'm glad you're here."

He squeezed her shoulder before sitting up. "Me too."

Adam huddled them back to show them the counters – if you've been thrown, how not to get pinned.

Adam used Buffy for that demonstration. He threw her and came down hard like Angel had, but this time Buffy bumped to her side and used her arms and legs to push out. Adam commented on every aspect of the technique for the class, but Buffy had obviously done it a thousand times. For the advanced students, she even hooked her leg behind Adam's knee, grabbed his arm and rolled them so he lay on top.

The class split into pairs again and Angel started with the massive Skip. When he reached Buffy, he felt more confident staying tight and forcing her to the mat. With most people, he'd be in a winning position, but Buffy bumped, hooked, pulled and ended up on top – smiling. _She wasn't most people._

His fingers flexed on her hip just itching to pull her into a hug.

He spent the next hour resisting the urge. When class ended, Will waved her off clean-up duty. She thanked him and practically skipped towards out the door. When they got outside, he could finally wrap an arm around her. "You've gotten really good."

"Had to – all guy class meant get beat or get perfect."

"Well you can definitely kick _my_ ass."

She squeezed his wrist. "You go easy on me."

Squeezing back, he murmured into her ear. "That's just because I have other plans for tonight."

"mmm, me-plans?"

"All you-plans."

Just as she looked up at him, Angel bent and swooped her into his arms and placed her in the convertible. He jogged to his side and climbed in.

She pulled him closed for a quick, firm kiss. "The birthday surprise can't beat this."

Entranced by her moonlit smile, he almost believed her. "We'll see."

He started the car and drove away from the downtown lights. He liked this quiet between them. For once, it didn't feel like they were holding back words; they just didn't need them.

The farther they drover the more the outside matched the inside – no voices or traffic – just wind and crickets – peace.

Asphalt turned to gravel turned to dirt.

He parked the car on a spread of grass surrounded by trees but with a clear view of the sky.

Nearly full moon, plenty of starts and a gentle breeze sheltered them.

Buffy climbed into the back seat. "You do realize I've been working out all afternoon. I'm all sweaty."

Angel followed her back. "Working up a sweat from kicking ass isn't a turn off."

She took town her pony tail and raked her fingers over her scalp to relieve the ache.

Angel's hands took over brushing through her hair as he kissed her softly.

Her hands found his bare shoulders and drifted down his back and onto his ribs.

She reveled in the way he touched her. Even as his fingers massaged her head, his thumbs found places to caress her: her cheekbones, her jaw, behind her ears.

When her hands reached for his belt, his hands drifted to more exclusive climbs. They cupped and pressed against her breasts. His face slid against the side of hers, back and forth.

Slowly, she pulled his pants and briefs down. He lifted himself up to accommodate.

Her lips found his as she sat astride him. She pulled his hands from her chest and slipped them down and up underneath her shirt.

She didn't want anything between them. Neither did she want anything between them and this perfect breeze. Of course, they couldn't strip for fear of other's eyes, but she burned with the need.

Her hands pulled up his shirt without removing it – feeling the heat of him and the breeze against her hands as she touched him.

 _Perfect._ This was what she wanted – him and heat and air and weightlessness. She wanted the wind to carry them off so they could burn up together like distant starts . . . elements coming together, exploding constantly amidst cold, endless space.

She shimmied out of her sweats quickly and settled back against him.

His fingers started to prepare her opening, but she didn't want to wait.

Grabbing hold of him, she lowered herself on pain and fire. She bit at his mouth until he kissed her and held her as hard as she needed.

The breeze pushed hair again against both their faces. She pushed it back as she moved against him.

She took all of him quickly – again and again. He tried to stop her, slow her, but she wouldn't be denied this. Her hands came up under his arms and grabbed onto his shoulders as her anchor.

The bite in her core softened into pleasure as her body finally caught up to her mind.

She moved faster, harder and he joined her as they rose higher and higher – as they flew from their bodies to somewhere else – anywhere else was better.

She couldn't hold back the plea, "Angel."

He held her tighter, thrust up harder and actually trembled in her arms. "Buffy."

Her body contracted around his triggering his release. Her body went through the motions of climax but she didn't feel it. She felt her inner walls ripple but not the feeling of orgasm. If there had been pleasure it was completely outshone by the burn she'd chased. Everything below her chest ached, cramped, and shook as if recovering from a beating.

The breeze stopped feeling perfect and started to feel cold and abrasive.

The arms around her back and the head against her neck became heavy.

She shifted off him and scanned the car floor for tissues.

A hand came down on her thigh.

His thumb caressed her, "Are you alright?"

 _No._ The truth weighed on her chest like a boulder.

They didn't continue exploding like stars. They hadn't been carried off. They were right here falling away back into . . . what? _What were they doing? What was the point?_ She wanted to ask him; instead she tried to smile.

Through her disappointment, she looked at him and managed a small smile . . . because she loved him . . . and he loved her . . . and he didn't have any more answers than she did.

The least she could do was shield him from the questions.

 **OoOoO**

That smile mystified him.

He didn't understand how she did that; how could she be completely connected to him one moment and feel a million miles away the next?

He didn't know what intimidated him more: her intensity or this distance. He didn't know how to put either into words.

Readjusting his clothes, he watched her do the same.

They'd just made love; he should feel reassured. While she trusted him with her body, there was obviously something she didn't trust him with . . . something so big, she only got the briefest respite from its weight.

Helping steady her move to the front seat, he bit his cheek to keep himself from asking anything.

Clearly, she was in the thick of it – she didn't have answers for herself let alone him. Pressure would only stress her. Patience; he could give her patience and a safe place to figure it out, whatever "it" was.

When he started the car, he felt her hand rest on his.

Without looking over, she whispered, "Stay with me tonight?"

His teeth release his cheek. "I'm yours."

He felt the warmth from her hand even after she took it away.

Whatever it was that was pulling her away couldn't keep her from holding onto him.

That's all he needed.

 **OoOoO**

Her house was mostly dark when they pulled up. A single light in the living room and Dawn's room implied Joyce was working late again.

The couple walked to the door holding hands. Angel wasn't sure who was holding on tighter.

She unlocked the door but didn't step inside. Instead, she turned to him and sighed. "I'm sure you have homework you put off to spend time with me tonight."

"It'll wait . . . everything will wait."

She nodded before leading him inside.

They climbed the stairs. While Angel went to her room for clean clothes, Buffy grabbed an extra towel from the linen closet.

Dawn's door was partially open. Homework or journaling had her writing intently.

Buffy knocked softly. "Mom head back to work after dinner?"

Dawn looked up from her desk. "Leftover chicken in the fridge. Angel staying over?"

"Scandalous, I know."

Dawn rolled her eyes. "You guys are engaged. Sleepovers at this point aren't even gossip-worthy."

Buffy looked down the hall. "You hear that? We're not good gossip anymore."

Angel came up behind her holding both their pajamas. "Now we can finally pull off that bank job." He traded her pajamas for the towel and looked at Dawn. "Part time jobs are just a cover for our criminal posse meetings."

Dawn guffaws as he raised a finger to his lips.

Buffy patted his chest. "Come on Clyde, we stink."

He waggled his eye brows. "Speak for yourself Bonnie-girl."

Dawn shooed them with a wave. "Gross. Off with you."

He wrapped an arm around Buffy's waist, lifted her and spun them towards the restroom. "Off with us." He placed a quick kiss on her lips before setting her down.

They switched on the bathroom light and the water and began undressing.

Showering together wasn't new for them, but it had been a while.

Buffy was about to say that she missed this when she caught his frown.

Angel was looking at the cut on her arm. Without lust clouding his vision, he noticed the details of her. She wanted to back out, tell him to shower first.

Instead, she let him unwrap her hands. She stepped into the shower with him and let him wash the makeup off her face revealing her bruise.

He soaped up a wash cloth and ran it over her arms, her back, her legs. She let him clean between her legs even though the contact made her flinch. She let him see everything: winces, grimaces, bruises, tears . . .

He was seeing everything and not saying a word.

She washed him too. He knelt so she could reach his hair. She rinsed it and washed his back and his arms. Now that her secret was nearly out, she could relax and enjoy this closeness with him.

She'd been avoiding bathing with him for so long that she'd forgotten how much peace came from touching him like this. She was taking care of him in such a personal way – more intimate than sex; it was the sweetest blend of vulnerability and safety and she'd missed that feeling with a pulsating, nauseating ache.

He shut off the water and just held her as she stuttered breaths against his chest. As the chill surrounded them both, he kissed her forehead and nudged her out of the shower. They dried themselves but as she reached for her pajamas, he placed his hand over hers stopping her.

From under the counter, he pulled out the first aid box. He knew where it was. He knew where everything was in her house by now.

She watched him care for the cut on her arm, the mat burns on her elbows and her broken toenail.

Then she let him carefully dress her. She hung up their towels while he dressed himself quickly. They brushed their teeth, he braided her wet hair and then they padded to her bedroom.

Instead of turning on the light, they crawled directly into bed and cuddled into each other.

He nuzzled his nose against hers – up and down. She sighed and settled closed into this dark warmth.

He murmured, "You're not alone, please don't keep acting like you are."

She kissed his chin. "There's no reason for both of us to suffer."

"You hurt yourself tonight and you made me watch. You made me a part of it." He rubbed her back. "I deserve to know what 'it' is."

She nodded into his chest, "Do we have to talk tonight though?"

"No, I can wait." He rested his chin over her head and kept rubbing her back. "I'd wait forever for you."

He rubbed her back and surrounded her with his warmth until she fell asleep.

Then, he caressed her drying braid and held her tighter. He couldn't lose her but what he saw tonight made him think he might. Several of her injuries weren't from class. His loving, selfless, funny, strong Buffy was spinning out farther away from him, her pain fracturing her and shooting out of the cracks. She didn't want him hurt by it. He understood she wanted him at a safe distance on the chance she shattered. Right now he wish she didn't care; he wanted her to let him stand as close as possible.

He needed to know everything. When her pain broke through her control, her personality, her values, he wanted the shards to cut into him.

He wanted to hold her and catch every single one so when it was over, he could give them back to her so she could rebuild.

She'd done that for him more times than he could count.

By not letting him reciprocate, she risked exploding on her own. He'd done that once. With no one to catch the debris, collecting all the pieces was harder if not impossible . . . after the night he destroyed his family, he knew there were pats of himself he'd probably never recover . . . maybe the best parts. . .

On rare days, he let himself miss who he'd been.

He breathed in her clean hair. He didn't know what she needed because she wouldn't tell him or didn't know.

She loved him too much to involve him and he loved her too much to stay away.

His eyes stung and his stomach rolled. He felt too warm cuddled against her, but he didn't move. He stayed curled around her until eventually he fell asleep too.


	6. Chapter 6

He woke up to warm pressure around his middle. Opening his eyes, he saw the top of a blonde head. A hug . . . she was hugging him. He wanted to smile.

Testing her alertness, he ran a hand down her arm. She shifted until her chin was on his chest and their eyes met.

"Hey."

"What was the hug for?"

"Oh, did I wake you up?" She squeezed him again – this time in apology.

"No complaints here."

Answering his earlier question, she murmured, "I remembered was today is."

He finally smiled. "Happy Birthday."

She rubbed her head against his chest. "Our relationship is legal again."

"Shit, I forgot it wasn't. Last night-."

"-is still considered indecent exposure."

Staring at the ceiling, he shook his head. "I don't know why it seemed like such a good idea at the time."

"I was right there with ya." She kissed his chest. "Obviously, this time apart is stealing our sanity."

He rolled onto his side to face her. "I meant what I said about waiting. If you need more time with your family or your training, we'll make it work – whatever it means."

"It's not fair to make you wait any longer for the life you want." She brushed her fingers across his brow and down his face. When they reached his mouth, he kissed the tips.

"Do you still want to marry me?"

She watched him nibble her fingers. "So much."

He kissed her palm and then wrapped her hand in his. "Then I already have the life I want."

She sighed. "Okay, let's go over options tomorrow and decide on what the next year is going to look like."

He smirked. "Are you promising me a serious conversation without sexual distraction?"

"Yes." She rolled her eyes. "A conversation about registration and living arrangements and—" She stilled as his hand cupped her cheek and caressed her bruise. "Other stuff. . . "

She swallowed.

So did he.

He didn't know what drove her from their bed early in the morning and returned her injured. Whatever it was made it hard for her to follow conversations and maintain eye contact.

Searching her eyes now, he wondered how much of the "other stuff" had to do with Will. When he wasn't trying to impress girls, Will went by Spike. Angel had seen Spike at the Bronze enough times to know he drank as hard as he fought.

Angel wondered if she was in trouble and if so, how much and with whom.

She sighed. "Clothes. Breakfast. School."

"Right."

They dressed quickly. She unbraided her smooth hair only to clip it back up in a twist.

He glanced over as she dabbed concealer on the fading bruise.

He bit his cheek. She'd tell him tomorrow. They'd deal tomorrow.

They walked down to the kitchen and found Joyce pouring her first cup of coffee. She looked over as they started assembling breakfast.

She watched them silently until Dawn bounded down the stairs, then she took a deep breath. "Graduation will be here before you know it. You two know where you're moving yet?"

Buffy glanced at Dawn. "Not yet."

"Well, you don't want to put this off. Places near campus are going to fill up soon."

Under the table, Angel squeezed Buffy's knee. "We're actually looking at places closer to town."

"You don't want that. Think of the commute."

Dawn rolled her eyes. "This is Sunnydale – not LA. The college is like 30 minutes away."

"But you'll want to study with new friends, join clubs, attend parties."

Angel smiled faintly. "We're not really the party sort."

Joyce noticed Buffy looking at Dawn again. "Jenny and Dawn and I will be fine. You two need to start thinking of your own family." That earned Buffy's attention – a dark glare. "It's time we all got on with our lives." Coming behind Dawn, Joyce face her a big hug. "And I'll still have my pumpkin belly to keep me company."

Buffy watched them a moment before taking her cereal bowl to the sink. "Maybe you're right." She came back to the counter to squeeze Angel's shoulder. "I'll grab my bag then we can go."

Dawn watched her sister return with her bag, take Angel's outstretched hand and leave without a word or look her way.

Apparently, they weren't giving her a ride today.

Joyce kissed her hair. "It's alright. I'll take you to school."

She nodded and retrieved her backpack. "Maybe we could help them look for places this summer."

Joyce poured more coffee into a travel mug. "They'll be all moved out before then."

"I know they want to be moved by the wedding but they don't have to. I mean with you home this summer and me off school, we could help them move and stuff."

Joyce grabbed her keys off the counter. "How'd you know I'm taking time off work?"

"I heard you and Pat talking about it – which is great because we can help them if they don't find a place soon and you know spend time together before all our lives change."

"You and I are going to be busy helping someone else this summer."

"Who?"

"You know your father's release is coming up."

"But he's not coming back here. I mean he can't."

"Where else would he go? He's had a difficult year and will need our help transitioning back into his life."

Dawn's head wouldn't stop shaking. "Does Buffy know?"

"It's why she's moving out before his return. They're not ready to see each other yet."

" ** _I'm_** not ready to see him!"

"He's been punished enough. It's time for us to be a family again."

"He sent Buffy dead things."

"That's between her and your father. When you're 18, you can choose to move out too, but for now, you're under our roof and need to accept things are going to change." She picked up her purse. "Now let's get your to school and me to work."

Dawn didn't move. She just stared at her mother. "You don't want this. You can't want to go back to that life."

She sighed. "When you're older, you'll understand how much we need him. We're nothing without him."

Not knowing how to reply, Dawn simply followed her mother out of the house and into the car.

They drove in silence until Joyce parked in front of the high school. "If you want to spend the next few weeks sulking, that's your decision, but when your father returns, he'll expect your full support. We both will."

Dawn felt angry, rebellious tears welling up, but she had to go to school in a minute. She couldn't start crying now.

She knew talking about this would definitely make her cry, so she left the car without a word.

It sped off behind her. She couldn't hear the kids around her. She barely heard the bell. Her mind became an echo chamber for memories:

 _It's time for us to be a family again._

 _We need him – need to accept things_

 _– Full support –_

 _Want to go back_

 _– Full support –_

 _Things are going to change._

 _You're father's release is coming up; he'll expect your full support._

 _Dead things . . . accept things . . . dead things,_

 _Accept . . . . your father._

The echoes didn't subside until after her first class.

The bell rang and Dawn realized she'd sat through a history lecture without taking a single note. She tried to read the board behind the passing students. **_Reconstruction: failures and legacy._** She vaguely recalled reading that chapter last night. After the Civil War, some people wanted freedom; others wanted everything to go back to normal – oppression and all. Buffy fought for freedom, their father fought for power and, like most everyone else, their mother wanted peace at any cost.

Dawn scanned the chalkboard for hope. A whole war fought and it would still be a hundred years before the rights of every American were acknowledged. For once, Dawn was grateful she zoned out on a lecture. Besides needing a break from hopeless, she really needed to stop comparing mild domestic violence to 19th century slavery.

Standing up, she hung her head so her hair fell like a closing curtain across her face. Today, math class would be sanctuary. Trigonometry couldn't remind her of anything. She could get lost in irrelevant equations and arbitrary numbers. For an hour, her mind could relax.

 **OoOoO**

Something was up and he hated it. He hated whatever it was and he hated not knowing. He officially understood the hell his brother endured.

Connor watched Dawn labor over pastel pointillism. Every smudge brought her closer to tears. He knew she wouldn't switch to pen, though, because she "loved the colors" and felt they were "worth a little heartache." That's what she told him at the beginning of the quarter. He doubted she still felt that way.

Dawn was barely containing her emotions; he didn't want to risk embarrassing her.

The class was so quiet, if he tried talking to her now, everyone would overhear.

He spent the period working on his sports car sketch and counting the minutes till lunch.

When the bell finally ran, the rest of the students packed up and left – but not her.

After returning his pencils, he pushed his sketch pad into his backpack and headed her way.

He whistled at her work. "You tryin' to win an award or something?" All her little rainbow dots added up to a large clamshell in a sunset palette.

She wiped her fingers on crumpled paper towel before sitting up straight. "I just wanted it to be perfect."

"The way you're going at it, Ms. Henley is too scared to give you less than an A+."

"I think it's done."

"And that's a reason to frown?

"I liked working on it."

"Which is why you've been saying for weeks that you're never working with pastels again."

Slowly, she signed her initials in the bottom corner. "They take your whole focus – like math, but prettier . . ."

"If I see you cry over equations, I'm having the college counselor do an intervention."

Dawn looked at him then – really looked at him and he looked . . . happy.

After everything that went wrong in his own family, he found a way to be okay. She envied him and hated him and knew she didn't deserve to ruin it for him.

Her eyes returned to the sea shell. "I think I can clean up these smudges better – maybe scrape the paper with a razor. . . "

"Another tortured artist. I might have to take up the ninja skills just to balance the new fam out."

"Or you could find your own thing."

Connor frowned slightly. "I'll get right on that." When she didn't look at him again, he sighed, "See ya later Dawn."

 **OoOoO**

Angel didn't bring up that morning's kitchen conversation. He sat on the grass eating lunch with Buffy and her friends.

He bailed on his 11am class saying he could just get the notes from a friend later. Buffy didn't totally believe him, but sheltered in his side, she felt incredibly grateful.

Xander tried to juggle an orange, apple, and a hardboiled egg. "So if Buffy busts out with super powers this weekend, you'll call us right?"

Angel looked at Buffy curiously.

She explained, "Apparently, 18 is my last chance at super hero glory."

Oz shrugged. "Avoiding drafts is a power the keeps on giving."

Will added. "Plus voting."

Angel nodded, "That makes me feel glorious."

Xander kept his eyes on his erratic juggling. "I'm just sayin' if she starts flyin' around town, give us a jingle." The egg fell first, followed by the orange. He shrugged and bit into the apple.

Buffy laughed. "If I fly around town, I'll stop by your house for sure."

"Much appreciated." Jess started waving him over from across the quad. He handed Willow back her egg and Buffy back her orange. "See ya later ladies."

Willow put her cracked egg back in her lunch back and started to stand. "I'm going to review my calc. notes."

Oz stood with her. "I'll quiz you."

As they left, Angel leaned up from the tree and tucked her closer into his side. Sunlight fell like confetti between the leaves.

She felt settled against him and the tree and the grass. "I've been driving you crazy lately, how are you still so good to me?"

"We're doing the best we can." He watched her take his hand. "It's all we can do."

"I want to spend the rest of my life trying my best with you."

He heard the wistfulness. "But . . ."

"Something bad is coming and I don't think my best is good enough. . . . I know it's not."

"How?"

"Because even before I knew about it, I was barely holding it together. I can't do this again Angel. I can't."

"Baby, no more half-speak. What's coming?"

Sporadically digging her nails into his palm, she looked up at him. "My dad's coming back."

"He's being released from prison. He's not coming back."

"Mom's letting him move back in. That's why she wants us farther away." She breathed out a small laugh. "She's afraid you'll call the cops again."

"That's why you want to stay close." He searched her eyes. "To stay in that house and protect then like you used to do."

"I don't know how to leave Dawn behind but I don't think I can go back to that. A year is not enough time. I still feel it's yesterday – the hospitals, the trial, those packages. It's not enough time. Angel, I don't know what to do. I can't be unbroken for them or for you . . ."

"Shhh." He held her even closer and felt his stomach drop further and further.

Of all the things she could have been holding in, he hated it was this and that he hadn't guessed.

Nothing but ultimate chaos could humble his love so low.

He strained keep his face from falling into sympathetic tears. "You're not alone anymore – never again, okay? We're going to spend the rest of our lives doing our best and it's going to be enough. I promise you, it's going to be enough."

The school bell rang. He didn't know how to let her go after this.

Her hand loosened its grip on his. "I wanted to tell you tomorrow but I just couldn't wait anymore."

"I'm glad I know." He ran his hand down her hair and shared a wavery attempt at a smile. "Tonight can be whatever you want it to be. More talking, less talking, no talking . . . you lead, I follow."

She kissed the side of his jaw. "I just want to feel like a normal girl enjoying a date with her amazing fiancé."

He kissed her nose. "Making an extraordinary girl feel normal is a tall order, but I'll see what I can do."

That earned him a real smile – the kind that appeared in his best dreams. She stood up and smiled at him and walked into the school with more lightness than he'd seen in a while.

His heart was hers and he could never take it back. At this moment, he knew his heart needed hers to survive.

Getting up, he headed towards his car and tried not to think about the darkness in her life – the darkness threatening to consume them both.

Tonight couldn't be about that. She needed him to put it out of both their minds, so he would. Out of real darkness and into magical light, he'd take her wherever she needed to be.


	7. Chapter 7

Instead of heading home after her training with Giles, Buffy grabbed the spare set of clothes she kept in her backpack and showered at school.

Dawn might wonder where she was; her mom might too. They knew she had a special date tonight. Normal girls ransacked their closets and declared squatters' rights in the bathroom. She towel-dried her hair and finger-combed her hair before twisting it up and tying it into a bun. The most she had in her bag in the way of beauty products was a tinted lip balm and mascara. These would have to do.

She'd rather be happy then beautiful and the property housing her possessions also held more unpleasant memories than she could count.

She didn't want to think of them. She may not look like a normal girl about to go on a date, but she wanted to feel like one. The trick to feeling excited and special was to head to the safest place she knew.

Closing his art history textbook, Angel laid back on his bed and rested his eyes. Going through the night ahead, he tried to determine if he had time for a quick nap. A tap on his window interrupted his thoughts. He could didn't see the source but his pulse told him who he wanted it to be. He scurried off the bed and drew back the curtain.

Buffy.

Quietly he pulled up the window so she could crawl in. "I didn't expect to see you for a couple hours."

She put her backpack in the corner and straightened, "you've surprised me enough times at my window. I thought it was time I returned the favor."

He sat back on the bed so he could see her properly. "Well, I'm glad my window is on the ground floor."

She stepped back between his legs and put her hands on his shoulders. "You mind if we take a quick nap before tonight's adventure?"

"Reading my mind again?"

She kissed his forehead. "Sometimes you make it easy."

He swung one arm around her waist and used the other to pull them both back across the bed. He pushed off her jacket. She pushed off is over shirt. They both kicked off their shoes and settled against each other.

Her hair felt soft against his chin. And her whole body felt warm and pliable next to his. Sleep was eager to claim him now. Before it did, he whispered, "I sleep best when you are with me."

He thought she might have fallen asleep.

She mumbled, "Me too."

Occasionally a car drove by, the wind wrestled the leaves of the tree outside the open window, but for the most part the whole world hushed letting two weary souls find rest.

 **OoOoO**

Joyce came home to a dark house settled in silence.

She walked into the kitchen and reluctantly turned on a light. She hated overhead bulbs. No one needed that much light. She didn't want to see that much reality at once. Through squinted lids, she went to her favorite cupboard and pulled out a bottle of bourbon and a glass — her glass.

Seems she'd be needing it regularly again. She poured two fingers… Then poured two more. When Hank lived here there'd never been a shortage of liquor. In that way, he took care of her; he took care of them both. Alcohol allowed them to cry out the pain and laugh in the midst of it. It brought out his violence but it also brought out her endurance. When she was drunk she could suffer any pain silently. She could take it and bury it in places the sober Joyce would never want to look.

The first finger burned her throat, the next warmed it, and the other two settled her stomach like the most comforting friend or like a mother humming her favorite lullaby. It warmed her and hugged her and crooned that everything was going to be alright.

 **OoOoO**

As Buffy borrowed Angel's comb to smooth her hair, someone knocked on the door.

The door was already ajar, still, Angel invited "come in."

His aunt Jenny stepped in. "I know you two have special plans tonight which is why I wanted to give you your birthday present before you left."

She offered a small silver box. Buffy received it carefully as if expecting it to burn her. "Thank you Jenny." At Jenny's encouraging she lifted the lid. Inside lay black crystal earrings.

Jenny smiled. "They're obsidian — stones made from molten lava. It's been thought to protect the wearer from harmful thoughts or intentions. It also makes it easier to find truth."

Buffy touched the smooth cool drops. "They're beautiful." She looked between Jenny and Angel. "And yes, I'd very much like to wear them tonight." She took a deep breath.

"Connor and I picked them out together." She reached out and squeezed her hand. "We want the best for you and are so grateful to have you a part of this family."

Buffy couldn't hold back the urge to hug her. Jenny wrapped her arms tighter around her as if she was precious to her. Buffy didn't want to cry on her, but sometimes it felt like Jenny was her mother and Giles was her father and she was cherished. But, of course, that was ridiculous since Angel was certainly not her brother and Giles and Jenny barely knew each other. She stepped back shaking away her confused feelings.

Jenny squeezed her hand one last time before stepping back too. "I hope you both have a wonderful time."

Angel stood and gave his aunt a quick hug. "We will."

Jenny laughed and Angel stood behind Buffy as she put the earrings on in the mirror.

He put his arms around her. She held him to her with one hand. With the other she touched a crystal drop. "Between these and you nothing can hurt me, right?"

He nuzzled her hair. "That's the idea."

She turned around in his arms. "So where are you taking me Mr. Angelus?"

He smiled. "As close to heaven as I can manage."

 **OoOoO**

Buffy looked at the sign and the full parking lot. "How did you…"

Angel parked and walked to the passenger side to open the door. "It's the closest I could find to an Ice show."

She watched families unload out of minivans — mothers and fathers and big Brothers and Little sisters — some carrying flowers and balloons. It was the Ice Palace's spring recital — where this year students show their parents and the town what they've learned and how hard they've worked. She reached for his hand and whispered "it's perfect."

Angel's shoulders relaxed. He knew her father took her to ice shows when she was younger. This surprise could have bruised her heart. He also knew she spent most of junior high on a rink in LA and some of her happiest memories took place on the ice.

He squeezed her hand and followed the eager families into the building. When he passed their tickets to the man behind the window, he felt Buffy lean against him.

He bought them hot chocolate and hot dogs before finding seats.

Surrounded by the chatter of families and the smell of the rink, Buffy smile just got brighter and deeper as the minutes passed.

The overhead lights dimmed and eventually colored spotlights took their place. Music came on and kids of all ages came out.

They watched group pieces and elementary schoolers and junior highers and then a few solos and duets by the high school students. Buffy squeezed his hand so tight at the jumps and twirls. She clapped for every performer and stood after half of them.

In the two years he'd known her, Angel had never seen her so excited.

The recital ended with his arm around her as the lights came on and she kissed his cheek.

"Thank you."

"The night isn't over."

A Zamboni came out making ice glassy again. She settled back against him. "I can't imagine anything better."

He smiled and stood following the last of the crowd out into the parking lot.

She frowned as he stepped in front of his trunk and opened it. He turned to her with a smile and two pairs of skates. "We have the rink all to ourselves tonight."

She hopped once and then twice. "Seriously?"

"My buddy Doyle knows the security here. They'll lock up when we're done."

She walked backwards towards the rink. "You know how to skate — how did I not know this?"

"Before we moved here, I played hockey. Connor and I both did actually."

She looked at the skates he carried. "They're so shiny."

He jogged close to her. "I had to sharpen and clean the blades because neither of us have skated in years."

She stopped abruptly so he almost ran into her. She rose on her tip toes and pulled him in for a kiss. "You're my dream guy. You know that?"

He smirked and glowered at the same time.

He waved to a security guard as they reentered the building. She took the offered skates and nearly skipped to the edge of the rink.

He followed her to a front row seat and started putting on his skates as a Zamboni finished its cycle.

When both their skates were on, she intertwined their fingers and kissed the back of his hand. "Best birthday ever."

Together they walked onto the smoothed ice. It took them a moment to find their balance and rhythm since it had been so long since either of them had put on skates. Eventually their feet remembered how to glide and the rest of their bodies remembered how to fly. Still holding his hand, Buffy turned around and reached out for his other hand. She skated backwards pulling him towards her.

The overhead lights dimmed and colored lights slowly danced along the glossy floor. She didn't know if Angel had arranged that or if the security guys here were just big softies.

Either way this was a magical night. Angel looked as carefree right now as she felt — as if they'd left every worry outside the rink's front doors. Nothing could weigh down their hearts here.

She let go of his beautiful hands and spun with the image of his smiling face pulsing in her memory.

It was his turn to skate backward and his speed surprised her. She chased after and around him. He brushed her hand as he past her. She caressed his back as she circled him. They laughed at their game that had no rules and no end.

She caught up to him or he caught up to her and they found themselves in the middle of the rink surrounded by colors and cool air.

He leaned down and barely kissed her. His lips touched hers, caressed hers — with reference and adoration.

A buzz broke her focus. Her eyes stayed closed as she tried to source it. Another vibration came from her jacket pocket.

Shaking her head to clear it, she pulled out her buzzing phone. She frowned at the unfamiliar number on the screen. "Hello?"

"Buffy, I don't know how — why she would do this. I don't even know what's happening! They're not talking to me — they"

Angel followed Buffy off the ice. "— Mom, I'm coming; just tell me where you are."

He didn't hear her mom's reply but it made Buffy stumble. He held her from falling but she couldn't take a steady step after that. He kept his arm around her side until they could sit.

"I'm coming. We'll be there soon." She nodded into the phone as he removed her skates. All he heard was Joyce angry — he doubted she was making much sense, but Buffy didn't interrogate; she just kept assuring her mother they were on their way — that the hospital wasn't far from them.

They were walking through the parking lot when she ended the call.

He looked at Buffy over the roof of the car. She opened her mouth but no words came out.

Her gaze fell to the head of the car. "It's Dawn."

Angel got in the car and started the engine. With a glazed expression, she got into and put on her seatbelt.

They drove in silence. He didn't ask what her mom told her. From Buffy side of the conversation, he gathered her mother wasn't capable of clear communication. The fact Buffy didn't offer more meant she didn't know what they were walking into.

When the worst scenario isn't just possible but likely, the mind doesn't imagine or dread; it avoids. Sometimes it slows down entirely — other times, it busies itself with unrelated lists or details, the number of burnt out streetlights, the bugs on the windshield reminding one their car needs to be washed, the rhythmic beats one can imagine in turn signal clicks.

Everything is too loud and too quiet at different times. Minutes crawl and fly at the same time as they bring one closer to truth.

16 minutes. It took them 16 minutes to reach the hospital parking lot.

As soon as the car stopped, Buffy opened her door and hurried out. Instead of rushing forward though, she hunched over. He heard her retching as he came to her side. Squat down, she continued to keen and wretch long after she'd expelled her dinner.

He didn't have water to offer or tissue — not even a word of comfort. He stood close and silent feeling useless. Eventually her breath evened. He reached out his hand and she grabbed slowly letting him pull her up.

She squeezed his hand to hard and continue to breathe deeply with her eyes closed.

The night air was warm with a slight breeze around them. It felt perfect and people die on perfect nights all the time. He knew this. Death doesn't drop the temperature. It doesn't hide the stars. It can't bring brains or fog or quiet symphony of crickets.

Together they turned towards a bloodied cross — except it wasn't bloodied — it was just red… and white -slaughter and mercy… and sometimes death was mercy.

White light reached them. Doors open for them. They stood in an empty room with hallways and elevators. She loosened her grip on his hand. "I don't know where she is."

Angel found the word that most applied to them on a sign pointing to "emergency services."

The halls were empty — emergency waiting room was not. He led them to the check-in counter and asked "Can you help us find a Dawn Summers? She was brought here earlier tonight."

"By don't you have a seat while I find out where Ms. Sumner is?"

Press enter Buffy's voice trembled. "S-u-m-m-e-r-s. Suic—Sui. . ." She stopped trying to say the word.


	8. Chapter 8

Angel sat beside her on the steps of her back porch. Sometime during the night, she lost the ability to look at him. She didn't look at him while they waited for the nurse to wheel her sister out. She didn't look at him as he drove all three women home. Even after Joyce tucked Dawn in and went to bed herself, Buffy's eyes didn't grace any part of him.

In the hospital, he'd watched her listen and accept Dawn's lies and heard her repeat and defend him to the doctor: _"The four inch vertical gash in her arm wasn't a suicide attempt. It was the result of a freak swing accident in the park that night. . . Dawn wasn't depressed — just having us streak of bad luck.". . . "Of course Buffy would keep an eye on her, but this was just a bit of clumsiness. She'd already apologized for staying late at the park by herself, but really, she hadn't done anything wrong tonight — it wasn't even passed her curfew". . . ."The whole family just wanted to go home together."_

He'd watched her nod and smile whisper and cajole the doctors, the nurses, even the front desk clerk. Her mother and Dawn played their parts well but it was Buffy who carried the show and got them out of there. It was frightening to witness the change from throwing up in the parking lot to exchanging funny injury anecdotes with the medical staff.

After the doctor sewed up Dawn and replaced the lost blood, he should have put her on a psych hold. She needed to be evaluated, observed and helped. Buffy knew this. The way she kept staring at Dawn's bandage proved it.

She knew Dawn had made a serious suicide attempt, and she wanted to keep it out of the medical record. So how did she plan to handle this?

Maybe when she had an answer she'd look at him. Maybe that's what she was holding out for.

 **OoOoO**

Buffy held her arms trying not to curl in on herself and sob.

She needed to figure out what she was going to do. Obviously Dawn couldn't stay here. With or without Buffy, their home situation wasn't bearable for her.

Buffy needed to take Dawn with her. Finding a two bedroom apartment would be easy. Convincing their mom to relinquish custody or sign an emancipation paper work, that's what they needed. Even after she turned 18, Buffy was still too young to be a guardian or foster parent in the eyes of the court. And with both parents alive, they didn't have a case for exigent circumstances.

Dawn needed to be emancipated so Buffy could take care of her.

What did the courts require? Proof of income? Sufficient cause? She needed Willow or Giles or someone who could make sense of chaos. What time was too early to call? Did she have to wait for the sun to rise? Yes, yes of course she did.

Calm would help her think strategically and efficiently which was why she couldn't look at Angel. Pain, confusion, and grim determination would be all over his face just like it showed in his tense, still posture.

What she glimpsed in her peripheral vision reminded her she didn't have time because Dawn didn't have time.

Her sister sliced open her arm because she wanted to die tonight and almost did.

Buffy didn't want to just keep her alive; she wanted to save her. To do that she needed a clean mental health record and a little bit of time.

Both sisters needed to look stable on paper in order to have options.

She was gambling with her sister's life and Angel's presence reminded her of the stakes.

She couldn't panic or doubt herself. In the hospital, she'd decided to keep Don out of the psych ward in order to spring her from the home. She took full responsibility for how this turned out — if CPS took Dawn away, if she hung herself tomorrow… Buffy understood the risks, but she wanted a good future for Dawn. After tonight, she wouldn't settle for less.

That didn't mean she could consider the risks without trembling.

She corralled her energy to form words. "I'm not her. What I did tonight isn't like when mom covered for him. I know I sound just like her, but it's not the same."

Instead of words, Angel offered his hand.

She held it tightly. "I want Dawn with me; I want her with us."

Finally, he spoke, "she might need more help than we can give."

She nodded. "I'll get her counseling and pills and a shelf for her journals-" her voice broke "-after. After she's safe with us, I'll get her whatever she needs."

He heard the plea in her voice. She desperately wanted his support. He squeezed her hand.

He didn't doubt she wanted what was best for her sister and Dawn was _her_ sister. He had to trust her in this. "Okay." The way she breathed out in a rush made him think she might throw up again.

He released her hand in order to rub her back. "We'll fight for her, together."

 **OoOoO**

They agreed to meet the next day after they both got some sleep and Buffy made some calls. Both Holtz and Mr. Giles are friends of the family. She wanted their advice. She needed to find a responsible, knowledgeable adult to help her go through the options — see what she couldn't.

Angel nodded at her reasoning, hugged her and reminded her he was only a phone call away.

He didn't remember driving home. Walking to the front door felt odd. Entering the quiet house felt normal. Nothing had changed but everything would.

He stood in between the kitchen and the bedroom too tired to move.

Jenny looked up from her coffee. "How's Dawn?"

He stared at his keys. "Alive. At home."

"You should get some sleep."

He nodded slowly. He spoke to the floor. "I don't know how Buffy does it. She never runs out of strength."

"Come, sit for a minute."

He let himself fall into the chair beside her.

He continued staring at his keys and turning them over.

Jenny put down her coffee. "She's been taking care of her family for a long time."

"I just-I don't know if I'm enough for her."

She rested her hand on his arm. "You're not her parent and that's what she needs right now… That's what both those girls need."

"She wants custody of Dawn."

Jenny patted his arm. "I'm not surprised."

His gaze moved to her hand. "How much do you know?"

"I know Mr. Summers is being released soon, that he and Joyce never filed for divorce and the school counselor anticipates he'll move in the start of summer. He asked me to keep alert to signs of abuse from both girls."

Jenny rolled both her lips in before continuing, "I also know you see Dawn as another sister and would do almost anything to protect her . . . even take on more responsibility than you can handle."

"I want to marry Buffy. Want to back her up no matter what for the rest of our lives." He looked at her finally. "I'm ready to be a husband… I don't know if I can be a father yet." He squeezed his keys so hard they cut into his skin.

Jenny squeezed his arm. "You need to talk to her."

"How do I explain I'm not ready without admitting I don't think she is either? She needs support right now — not doubt, not me…"

"She needs honesty and perspective."

He closed his eyes. "I wish I was as strong as her, that I deserved her."

"You stood by her side through so much. What makes you think you don't?"

He opened his eyes to watch his fist release the keys and reveal the bloodied indentation. "I never thought about taking care of Connor. If you hadn't spoken up, foster care would've split us up and I wouldn't have thought it."

"Oh, Liam."

"I shut down for years, but tonight, she didn't shut down once."

"She is an extraordinary girl and whether or not you believe it, you're extraordinary too. You deserve each other."

He dragged his hands up and down his face. "I'm going to sleep for a couple hours."

"Are you heading back there tonight?"

Shaking his head, he wiped his mouth and eyes. "Tomorrow, unless she calls and needs me sooner."

She patted his shoulder as she stood. "You're a good man." She leaned down to kiss the top of his hair whispering, "I'm so proud of you and I know your mom would be too."

That made him wipe his face more. He stood nodding and blinking furiously as he lumbered towards his room.

He closed the door on the world and thanked the blessed quiet.

He hadn't known how to handle the best night of their lives turning into the worst. He still didn't. He slumped into his bed still wearing his date clothes. He hoped the world would make sense to him when he awoke. Or maybe it's a rationality would be easier to accept.

 **OoOoO**

Buffy wanted to do something stupid. She lay against her back porch steps thinking of stupid things that sounded good right now.

Top of the list: finding Spike and beating each other into a puddle of bruises. She stared at the early morning sky and imagined how her sobbing energy would feel channeled into a battle — not one of wits and laws, but fists and blood.

Her knees bounced up and down with the urge to stand and run to the studio.

Will would be there. He was always there.

Sure, getting beat to hell wouldn't help her situation, but there were other ways he could make her feel good. She knew he had whiskey at his place … probably weed too. He'd invited her more than once. He'd made all kinds of offers that she really wanted to take him up on right now. Drinks, hits, and sex with someone who didn't rip into her soul with every glance. She could just take a break from life for a couple hours. Press pause on the pain. All that probably wouldn't help matters either.

Her emotions wanted to ditch her mind — find a fight or a high that would sever the two for a while.

She ran her thumb over her closed flip phone. So many calls to make when the sun rose high enough and the only person she wanted to talk to wouldn't care what time she called.

He'd come over if she asked. They could do some light sparring in the basement. Dawn wouldn't mind. She'd met him a couple times and blushed when he teased her. Maybe, today, he could make them both smile.

She bit her lip and ran her thumb across her phone again. The door clicked behind her. Buffy stilled as the floorboards creaked and a shadow sat beside her.

"I would make coffee but I think I'm just going to go back to sleep."

Buffy nodded at her mom's quiet words.

"But I want to be awake for Dawn."

Buffy kept her eyes on the sky. "Her body has a lot of healing to do. I wouldn't be surprised if she sleeps the day away."

Joyce yawned. "So what are you doing out here? Waiting for Angel?"

"I sent him home."

They sat in unfamiliar yet welcome, comfortable silence.

The tops of the trees glowed orange in the morning light, holy fire that burns but does not consume.

The sun and birds and breeze continued on as if today was ordinary, as if mother and daughter weren't sitting vigil for a sliced up girl.

Buffy shook her head, "I get it kind of. Dawn's upstairs needing me to take care of her and I'm out here wanting to call a boy and blow my life up."

"Not Angel…"

"Not Angel."

Joyce sighed, "I was drinking last night and when I got the call from the hospital — I still drove."

"I know."

"And I watched you take care of us — both of us — and I want to be a mother to you, but I don't — I don't think I can right now. I'm still letting you down. I let both of you down."

Buffy sat up. Her gaze fell from the sky to her mother's clenching hand. "You stayed. You could have jumped on a bus any time and left Dawn and I to fate. With the amount of painkillers we've earned from abuse, I'm surprised either of us is still here right now."

"I could never have left you girls behind."

"And I can't leave Dawn."

"So, what comes next?"

Buffy let out a humorless chuckle. "Everything hard."

Joyce put her arm around her trembling daughter. "Whatever you decide, Angel has proven himself a patient, loyal young man."

"Who has endured enough family drama for 10 lifetimes. I need to stop involving him in ours." Buffy stood up abruptly. Wiping her tears she opened her phone. "And I need to take someone up on his offer."

 **OoOoO**


	9. Chapter 9

Connor wanted to be happy for her or proud, but seeing Dawn clutch her prize just made him feel sad.

Outside of art class, he hadn't seen much of her. Neither he nor Angel saw much of Buffy either — not since the disaster weekend. One day Angel was trying to process the possibility of guardianship of a suicidal teen and literally, the next day, he was tearing out sheets and sheets of Buffy sketches.

Angel couldn't face them but he couldn't trash them either, so Connor's closet became their resting place. Anyone who looked inside would assume he had a major crush on his brother's ex. It was creepy and weird and he wanted to grill Dawn, Buffy, and Angel about their crazy decisions, but no one gave him the chance.

The girls kept their gaze down and ears closed. They didn't linger anywhere anymore and Angel… Angel stopped.

Overnight he reverted to pre-Buffy Angel: he didn't talk and didn't look at anyone except to glower. Whatever Buffy said to him didn't just hurt his brother; it changed him.

Tomorrow was the last day of school and none of them had said a word to each other since that weekend.

Tonight's art show brought them to the same place, but so far, they successfully avoided each other. Apparently, the school gym was large enough for Connor, Angel, Jenny, Dawn, Buffy, and Joyce to orbit but never meet.

Dawn's seashell not only won an award, but it was also purchased by a member of the community. He wanted to want to congratulate her, but looking at her hurt. The show was ending and he felt ready for home and sleep.

Passing her in an empty hallway, he struggled to ignore her. She stood by her locker without glancing at him.

He slowed and turned towards her. "Guess all that extra time on your shell paid off."

Dawn closed her locker with a shrug. "Thanks."

He stopped walking. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I guess; you?"

"Just wishing it was us graduating Friday and high school could be done already."

"Definitely."

They shifted in silence.

"I'm sorry I didn't come after." Connor stepped closer, "I meant to; I should have."

Dawn nodded, "would have been weird."

"Because you tried to kill yourself or your sister dumped my brother?"

She leaned back against the lockers. "Both."

"Sorry, I don't mean to bring up stuff. I'm just-"

"Angry, confused, disappointed . . ."

He sighed, "Yeah."

"Me too." She slipped her small plaque inside her backpack and zipped it. "I don't know why I did what I did." She slung the bag onto her shoulder. "And I don't get what Buffy is doing either."

"So she's serious about this."

"Serious as a nuthouse."

He blinked. "Wait, what?"

She smirked. "My summer plans: an extended stay at LA's best funny farm."

"Whoa. How long is extended?"

"Minimum is 30 days."

"And maximum?"

"Mom and Buffy say I shouldn't worry about that -meaning I don't get to know."

"Wow."

"Guaranteed: your summer will suck less than mine."

Connor frowned. "Mail."

"What?"

"Are you allowed mail in there? I could write you, send doodles or something."

"That'd be nice, remind me there's an outside world waiting."

"It's settled then. Send me the address."

She used to fingers to salute. "Will do sir."

Connor sighed, "Whatever happens with Angel and Buffy, you and me our friends alright?"

Dawn stood straight. "I won't hold you to that." She shrugged, "family first," and walked away before he could think of a reply.

Since when did people have to choose between friends and family?

He leaned his shoulder against her locker. Why did everything have to be so screwed up?

 **OoOoO**

Buffy wandered the outside halls of the dark campus.

She'd clapped for Dawn's award, nodded her greetings to her and her mom and was now free to disappear in the night.

She came down the steps that led to the fountain. She thought the moon illuminated her path, but something tripped her. Swiveling, she fell on her side.

"Fuck."

Her eyes focused on the cursing, lump that made her fall.

"Angel?"

A much lower "Fuck" was confirmation.

"I'm sorry." She tried to stand but her leg was entangled with his. "I'm sorry."

"Stop."

She pulled harder.

"Just stop."

She felt his hand cover her entire calf.

He slid both his legs away freeing her to pull her knees toward her chest. "Are you hurt?"

She started sitting up. "I'll be fine." She couldn't see his frown.

"Your hip -"

"Will be fine." She couldn't see his glower either, but she knew it was there.

"Stand."

"Says he who sits in walkways."

He sighed, "You're a quiet walker."

She snorted. "You're saying I startled you?"

"Others who passed by – I heard them coming and moved."

Shaking her head, she leaned back on her arms and breathed deep. "Now that we've heard and seen each other maybe you can go, so I can take a minute."

"You can't walk home."

"Who said I walked here?" She scrunched her face at his silence. "Seriously, I'm fine. I've run through worse."

He shook his head. "Of course you have."

"Not your problem."

He stood slowly his shadow looming over her. "You may need to suffer but I don't have to watch."

"Exactly. What are you —"His shadow descended and his arms reached under her. She clutched tight as her whole body rose off the ground.

"Angel, this is –"

"Necessary."

"Not okay."

As he walked them across the quad, his sent surrounded her. She teetered between holding tight and not holding him at all. "Angel…"

"If I can stand it, so can you."

When he crossed the street instead of heading for the parking lot, she realized they were in for a long night.

After the first block, she rested her head on his shoulder. "How have you been?"

"Shitty."

She nodded against his shoulder. "You pick a dorm yet?"

"Talking makes this easier for you but harder for me."

She nodded once and held him tighter.

After another block, he mumbled "off campus housing with Doyle."

"Cool." Her eyes watered

"You can always change your mind, you know, about college."

She kissed his collarbone. "I made the right choice."

He shifted her higher on his chest. "How can you be sure?"

"My dad is too scared to come home."

His eyebrows rose in his fingers squeezed her. "Really."

"He told mom he wasn't stepping foot in this town unless I back out."

"You believe him?"

"I don't know, but I'm sleeping easier."

"Good."

"Mom does too. She says she feels safer and the money won't hurt."

"She doesn't think it's dangerous?"

"If dad wanted to come home, she'd let him – so her sense of danger is pretty warped."

He let himself smell her hair. "But you understand the risk."

"It'll help mom and Dawn; that's enough for me. If the worst does happen, they'll get a little money – so either way."

"Not funny."

"Not joking."

"Your mom's self-preservation instinct is warped; yours is non-existent."

She patted his chest. "Aren't you glad I'm not your wife?"

He pressed a hard kiss on her for head. "No."

She didn't respond. She didn't know how.

They traveled in silence all the way across town to her street.

His steps slowed. The distance from the sidewalk to her door lasted a small eternity.

He squeezed her close one last time before setting her down. "You told me not to wait for you. I won't, but you'll always be my girl."

She looked up and tried to make out his features. She couldn't. Without a porch light or streetlamp, she couldn't see his expression – just the slight sparkle of his eyes. She reached up and touched the cheek she couldn't see.

He bent down so she didn't have to rise up to kiss them.

His lips felt soft and giving. Reluctantly, they let each other go. She pulled her key from her pocket, opened her door, and limped inside.

Angel watched the door close behind her and waited for the final click before he turned around.

He retraced his steps back to the school and trudged to the parking lot where his loyal convertible waited for him.

 **OoOoO**

On the drive home, he remembered there last conversation as a couple.

 _He'd arrived at dusk, but instead of inviting him inside sighed, she'd asked "walk with me?"_

 _They started steadily through the darkening neighborhood waiting for the streetlights to come on._

" _How's Dawn?"_

 _Buffy shrugged. "She'll be fine."_

 _He pushed his hands deeper into his pockets. "And your mom?"_

" _She'll be fine too."_

" _You talk to Holtz or Mr. Giles?"_

" _Holtz left town, but he said he'll make some calls."_

" _When is he coming back?"_

" _He doesn't know. Apparently, mom told him she wanted to give my dad another chance and he didn't want to see how that turns out, smart guy."_

 _Angel wanted to call him a coward, but each member of the Summers' family seems committed to making dangerous decisions._

" _I have a plan, though, and Giles is on board. He's calling in some favors. He's offered before but I wasn't interested then."_

 _He realized they'd reached the park where Dawn almost died. They both stopped walking and stared at it. "What's the plan?"_

 _Slowly, the streetlights came on. The one above them flickered. "Dawn needs a lot of help and she also needs stability, so I'm not going to college and I'm not moving out and we're not getting married."_

 _Looking down, his eyes met hers._

 _Her voice didn't waver. "When school ends, she'd being admitted to a psychiatric hospital. Holtz is getting her into a good place for an extended stay and Giles is getting me into the police academy."_

 _He turned his back on the park to face her. "What?"_

" _Adam used to be special forces. He said if I start training with him and stop training with Will, he'll recommend me to the chief. They served together and might be able to fast track the hiring."_

" _You want to be a cop?"_

 _She reached for his hand. "With my dad coming back, mom and Dawn need a police presence in the home. I've been getting stronger for a while and now I have a reason for it – the pay and the health insurance – I'm finally going to be of real help to them."_

" _And us?"_

 _Rubbing his hand, she led him to a park bench and sat. When she looked at him, she touched her bruised cheek. "I wanted this. Adam doesn't want me sparring with Will because he knows I'm not trying to learn." Her hand returned to her lap. "I'm trying to feel: anger, pain – anything."_

" _All your injuries are from him?"_

" _I give him just as many. Fighting as hard as we do is addicting. I haven't told anyone because I don't want to stop."_

" _But you were going to tell me."_

 _She nodded._

" _And Spike – what does he get out of this?"_

 _She looked down. "He says fighting is better than shagging."_

" _So in his mind, punching you is like –"_

 _She touched his arm. "I'm done. I promised Adam. I'm stopping because Dawn needs me." Her hand moved down to cover their clasped ones. "You've been so good to me; you deserve someone who thinks about your needs. Your first year of college is almost over and you spent most of it with me. Most of those people don't know or care about your past. You can take chances. Enjoy your life."_

" _While you're living with a psycho, fighting crime, and wishing someone would beat you up?" He scoffed. "Not likely."_

 _He tried to pull his hand back, but she squeezed it. "I'm not okay, but I will be."_

 _He shook his head. "The police department will hire you quickly because they're desperate. They always are. This town loses more cops a year than the rest of the state. Fire, drownings, stabbings – half the bodies are never recovered."_

 _She pulled back her hands and removed her Claddagh ring. Opening his fist, she dropped the ring in before closing it again. "I'll take care of myself and trust you to take care of yourself."_

 _He looked at his fist then back to her. "I'll never stop worrying about you."_

 _She leaned her head on his shoulder and sighed, "Parting advice: move closer to campus, talk to girls at parties, take your art traveling." Feeling his head turn towards her, she explained, "I saw the flyer in your car."_

 _Doyle must have put it there. He frowned at the space between their hands. "I want to marry you more than I want to go anywhere."_

 _She murmured, "I know."_

" _I'd rather you leave me for Spike than join Sunnydale PD."_

 _She nodded against him, "I bet he shares that preference."_

 _He huffed a short, hollow laugh. "Don't tell him I said that."_

" _Cross my heart."_

" _You'll call me if you need me?"_

" _I won't."_

 _He didn't know if she meant she wouldn't call him or she wouldn't need him. She didn't elaborate. "I can't change your mind about this, us . . ." His head lay heavy on against hers._

 _He could change her mind about this so easily. She felt sick thinking about a future without him, but he couldn't know that. She'd hid her brokenness from him all this time; she could hide her need for him too.  
"Promise me something?"_

" _Anything."_

" _Promise you won't wait for me."_

 _He closed his eyes and didn't reply._

 _They leaned against each other until they didn't . . . until she left. Watching her walk away, he waited for her to look back; she didn't._

She didn't attend his art show, and he didn't escort her to prom. She was graduating in a couple days and he wouldn't see it. Like the rest of their plans, their wedding day would come and go without them.

He tried to remember last year's prom and his graduation day. They'd been happy then and so full of hope. He missed looking forward to their future. He missed feeling like he had one. Without her, the years ahead felt like so much smoke. Each new day was that a little harder to breathe through and see passed.

If she missed him as much as he missed her, he didn't know how she stayed away.

He parked on the street and walked through his dark house. Jenny and Connor were already asleep. Without turning on any lights, he trudged to his bed and lay down. Staring at his window, he tried to imagine her silhouette in the shadows.

Sometimes ghosts of her and their plans helped him sleep. Even when they didn't, they kept the sadness at bay. The ghost in his room wore a white dress. She always wore it and she always looked beautiful. Just like the real Buffy, though, the shifting shadow kept distance between them. He waited all night for her to step closer. She never did.

 **OoOoO**


	10. Chapter 10

"I'm sorry, you know." Standing in her doorway, Dawn watched pack clean workout clothes into her backpack. ". . . for ruining your birthday."

Buffy's hands stilled on the bag. Her gaze caught on her the Claddagh ring. After that night, she'd moved it from her left hand to her right. She shouldn't be wearing it at all anymore. . .

"Buffy?"

She looked at her young, deserving sister. "If you had died, it would have been the worst night of my life, but you didn't. You surviving is the best present I'll ever get."

Dawn rocked on her heels lingering. "You're not going to college because of me."

"None of this is your fault." She finished zipping her bag. "But what you did — what you felt you had to do, that's on me."

"No Buffy –"

"I wasn't around. I lied and planned instead of talking with you. I'm sorry."

Dawn crossed her arms. "I shouldn't have done it."

Slinging her bag over her shoulder, she nodded. "I know you don't want to go away, but I need to do everything I can to help you and Golden Hills is part of it."

"I'm fine with it." Dawn rubbed her arms. "I just can't help feeling like I'm ruining your life."

Buffy followed her sister's gaze to the white dress peeking out of her closet. Dawn showed a rare sense of tact by not mentioning Angel. Their basement was filled with decorations for a canceled wedding and boxes for a canceled move.

Sighing, Buffy walked towards her. "Changed doesn't mean ruined." She reached out to brush Dawn's long hair off her shoulder. "I'm going to be fine. We both are."

Dawn nodded slowly.

"Now come on, let's be on time for our last day of school."

"Pfft, your last day. Only one of us is graduating."

Buffy rolled her eyes and followed her down the hall. Descending the stairs, she felt her hip burn and twist.

Joyce stood at the counter drinking coffee. "You girls want any breakfast?"

They answered together: "I'm good." "Already ate."

"Alright, can I drive you to school?"

Buffy smiled. "Thanks, but we have a ride."

Dawn frowned. "We do?"

"I bet Will is already here."

Dawn followed her out the door. "When did Willow get a car?"

"Gym friend."

Their mother called after them: "Have a good day at school!"

Sure enough, Will's beaten, black car sat in front of their house. Opening the car door woke him up.

"Hey." Dawn crawled to the back seat; Buffy took the front.

"Hey." He shook himself alert.

"Thanks for driving us."

"Can't believe they still have school this early."

Dawn leaned forward as he started the car. "You don't look that old."

He tilted back a dry glance. "Thanks."

"I mean, like you must have graduated in the last couple years."

"Dawn."

"S'alright pet. I dropped out years before parade and pomp. "

"Woah."

"Your sister socializes with a known rebel. Surprised I haven't rubbed off on her."

Buffy smirked, "are you sure you weren't kicked out?"

He shrugged a shoulder. "If I was, I sure wouldn't join up with a new league of brainwashers. Not all of us are masochists love."

Settling back in her seat, Dawn saw the floor was littered with tools, clothes and empty cigarette cartons. It looked like he lived in here.

Spike lowered his voice. "Adam have you training after hours now?"

"I tripped."

He nodded. "You mean someone tripped ya."

"Just an accident."

"You tellin' Adam that or am I covering classes tonight?"

"I'll tell him."

His lips parted but he didn't say anything.

"I'm not sparring with anyone besides him and Giles."

"Doubting the librarian knocked your hip out."

Dawn snorted.

"I'm not lying to them and I'm not lying to you."

"Cuz you're always honest 'bout who and what you're doing."

She finally looked at him. "If I wanted to break my promise, I wouldn't need to find someone new."

"Realize that, do ya?"

"I know you can keep a secret." She touched his arm. "I'm just trying not to have any."

Dawn felt bad that Spike didn't believe her. "Her arm is scraped up. I think she really did just fall. Like, who spars on cement?"

He grunted.

Not knowing how to interpret that, Dawn didn't say anything for the rest of the drive. When he parked at the curb, she pushed out of the car.

Buffy watched her go. "I went to her art show last night."

"Leave early?" He knew her well.

"Angel was there."

He had no sassy retort for that.

"I fell on him – literately."

Brushing his hand against her hip, he watched her flinch. "Musta been a hell of a landing."

She down at his hand. Sighing, she pushed her pants down an inches revealing the top of an ugly bruise. "I know how to fall right. Just didn't."

"By now, it should be instinct."

She righted her pants. "I can't go back on my word. I need Adam's help to get better."

"I'm glad you called me. Don't stop." He reached for her hand.

She let him hold it a second before pulling back and pushing out of his car.

"I'll be here after school love."

Rolling her lips between her teeth, she nodded and closed the door. As she walked towards the school, his car rumbled away behind her.

Xander jogged to her side. "Still diggin' the older guys?"

She sighed, "I'm not dating Spike."

"Just feeding his fantasies."

She swatted his arm.

"Ow. Hey. White flag waving." He shouted across the hall. "Hey wills!"

Walking hand-in-hand with Oz, Willow smiled at them. "Isn't this exciting?"

Xander's whole body nodded. "For those not doing more school next year, today is very exciting."

"Don't forget to get caps and gowns today."

Buffy and Xander glanced at each other. "Yeah, we're stopping by the office at lunch."

"Good." Willow squealed, "Oh, there's Jess! I'm gonna remind him too."

Oz nodded their goodbyes as his girlfriend pulled him further down the hall.

Xander hissed. "When we don't show, how pissed you think she'll be?

She shrugged. "You've known her longer than I have."

He fake shivered. "So we ask the school to mail over diplomas and then we go into hiding, yes?"

"You're road tripping indefinitely. Hiding shouldn't be hard for you."

"Right. Nice knowing ya. I'll send postcards to your funeral."

"Canceled wedding takes death penalty off the table. It's like a law or something."

He wrapped an arm around her shoulder. "Life in prison it is then." He walked her to her locker.

"Meet you here at lunch?"

"Lockers, office, lunch, last afternoon of classes ever."

Unzipping her bag, she exchanged gym clothes for textbook. After closing the door, she stood on her toes and kissed his cheek. "I already miss you."

He blushed a little and smiled back.

She turned away letting the river of students push her to her first class. She took her usual seat and turned on her computer. Connor slumped down next to her without a word. She didn't expect one.

Since breaking up with Angel, both he and Jenny ignored her completely. They weren't mean about it – quite the opposite. They knew about Dawn's suicide attempt. She heard Angel calling them from the hospital. That night, that weekend, and all the weeks after had overwhelmed her. Angel's family was giving her space to process her life. Knowing her decisions hurt and baffled them, she appreciated their silence.

She also understood their new distance wasn't temporary. Instead of joining their family on Friday, she was beginning of the slow slide back to stranger status. She didn't regret it. She didn't want to disappoint them again.

Jenny stepped towards the middle of the room. "So, all of you completed your final project; most have a couple steps to redo. When you finish, the rest of class time is yours. I'll be coming around to answer any questions. Okay, get to work."

Buffy stared at her notes. She needed to repeat only one section. That'd leave more free time than she'd like. She brainstormed excuses to leave early.

"Did you talk to Angel last night?"

Startled, Buffy looked over and saw Connor sitting fairly straight and alert. She looked down at her notes again. "Why?"

"He came home late and extra broody."

A fully awake Connor was both nosy and perceptive. "I'm doing everything I can to stay out of his life." The computer was ready, but her fingers refused to type. "I couldn't miss Dawn's show, but I'm sorry it hurt him." She shifted her sore hip. ". . . that _**I**_ hurt him."

He started typing, so she did too.

He mumbled, "He could help you."

"With what?"

"Everything." He meant Dawn and her dad and any other drama in her soap opera of a life.

Even though she wasn't ready to talk about this, she realized this might be the last time they talked. She turned to him and waited for his gaze to meet hers. "I want more for your brother. You do too. If you want to help him, forget about me and my family. I'm handling everything." When he frowned, she turned back to her computer. "Golden Hills doesn't allow letters anyway."

"H-how, d-did, does-"His mouth gaped and shuttered.

"She asked me if you could write her. I told her the same thing I told you."

"I don't want to stop being friends with her – with either of you."

"And I don't want to be the bad guy, but for the people I love, I am."

The finality in her voice was like a wall between them. He didn't know how to breach it – if it even could be breached. Angel must have reached this same wall last night. He looked back at his computer. His whole body felt cold, but he was sweating.

Jenny stood between them. "Everything all right?"

"Just finished." Buffy shifted to the side of her seat.

Jenny leaned over to check her work. "Looks good."

"Can I go to the library? Mr. Giles always welcomes help on the last day."

"Sure, Buffy." Jenny stepped back as Buffy gathered her things.

"And Connor, how are you coming along?"

Instead of answering, he watched Buffy walk out of her last class with them.

Jenny watched too and sighed. She loved Buffy like a daughter – so did Giles, but Buffy didn't want to be loved by anyone; she couldn't bear it.

Jenny squeezed his shoulder. "You're doing fine." Her hand slipped away as she approached the next table.

No one would stop caring about Buffy. He wondered if she knew that. The way she acted like they could hurt all of them. From behind her wall, though, she couldn't see that.

His temperature evened, but his emotions didn't. He hated thinking how long it'd take for her to realize what everyone knew: she deserved more than she allowed herself.

 **OoOoO**

"Giles?" Buffy stood in the middle of the library and swallowed.

Just like her first day of school here, Giles wasn't around, but unlike that day, neither was Angel.

She remembered finding him behind the stacks – all dressed in black and glaring.

A lot of days had changed her life, but that was the first one that changed it for the better.

Making him smile calmed her in ways he never realized. It seemed impossible she'd never do that again.

Her fingers twitched with the urge to call him. Hearing his voice last night, she felt sick with relief. She hated how much she wanted to hear it again. Angel deserved to figure out who he was without her drama holding him back. She owed him that.

Sitting at the empty table, she pulled out sheets of codes and abbreviations she needed to memorize.

She felt his ghost watching her. The Angel she first met would be proud of her studying to become an officer; it meant she was taking her power back, or taking it for the first time. But then he'd fallen for her and started planning a life together.

Maybe deep down, her current Angel was a little bit proud of her, but mostly, he was scared.

He looked at her like she was destined to die soon; he just didn't know exactly how or when. If he had a book of prophecies, she'd love to read it . . . or maybe she didn't. Her eyes skimmed the list of penal codes.

 **240: Assault.**

 **242: Battery.**

 **261: Rape.**

 **288: Lewd acts with a minor.**

 **415: Disturbing the peace.** She chuffed at the euphemism.

She'd experienced all of these firsthand. What other crimes had Hank Summers committed and what ones had incarceration prepared him for?

He refused to live with a potential officer, so probably had bigger plans than domestic violence. She flipped through codes and notes with an awareness of how many ways he could ruin their lives, how much trouble he could involve them in.

Once he was released, the only things standing between him and his family were her commitment to joining law enforcement and living at home. She needed to return home after _every_ shift.

The first time she'd changed Dawn's bandage, she knew her nights out were over: no more sleepovers at Willow's or Angel's. Holding bloody gauze, she realized she couldn't just postpone the wedding; she needed to end things with Angel entirely. Her life wasn't hers. It belonged to Dawn. She had a responsibility to give her everything she could -everything she had.

The bell rang.

She stood.

Looking around the quiet library, she wanted to feel sad; she didn't. It was probably better that couldn't feel anymore. Her family didn't need feelings; they needed sacrifice. She recognized her numbness to loss as the blessing it was.

She walked out of the library, away from Angel's ghost and didn't think about him again for the rest of her classes. Even when she returned for her last period of study hall, her thoughts fluttered the memories like they didn't exist.

"Here to help."

Giles stood behind the counter checking in returned books. "Good afternoon Ms. Summers."

She added the last of her textbooks to the pile before walking around the counter and loading the cart with books ready for re-shelving.

"If you have more stuff to teach me, Adam told me we can use his gym. I think he wants you to teach a class there – not sure which one."

Giles' handling of the books slowed and stilted. "That's a very kind offer. I'm –"

"The equipment there is good, like _really_ good. Maybe you could store some of yours there. Better than a library, right?"

He set down another book and looked at her. "Buffy, I . . ."

He planned on keeping in touch, but he hadn't expected her to want him to stay a regular figure in her life. He hadn't expected her to need him.

"Think about it?"

He nodded and watched her roll the cart towards the stacks.

He had every reason to believe she'd be accepted by police academy for their July session and hired upon graduation six months later. Her time and responsibilities were about to change radically, and she felt nervous. He heard it in her voice. She wanted him to assure her some things wouldn't change. She needed something, someone to depend on. He didn't know if accepting that role would help her harm her.

For the path she'd chosen, she needed total independence and self-sufficiency, but he couldn't refuse her request for support. He cared too much to refuse her anything. He made a mental note to talk with Adam. Perhaps, they could form a plan for the months and maybe years ahead.

Despite her incredible strength, Buffy retained a remarkable degree of vulnerability. He didn't want life to rob her of it.

He glanced at his briefcase again. Sitting inside was a business card that Jenny gave him earlier that week. She suggested he call the number and ask some questions " _just in case_."

He'd felt guilty accepting the card – like he was going behind Buffy's back, but now, he felt guilty for not having already used it.

Watching her return book to their rightful places, he noticed how carefully she took the stairs. She was hurt, and she was helping him. She'd been hurt many times, and she wanted to help a lot of people.

As soon as she left, he went to his briefcase and pulled out the card. The more he thought about his questions, the more urgently he wanted answers to them.

 **OoOoO**


	11. Chapter 11

Angel knew he shouldn't be here. He knew it, but he didn't have school to distract him anymore.

He finished finals two weeks ago and since then, he'd resisted just showing up where he knew she might be. After seeing her last night, though, — after holding her, he couldn't stay away anymore.

He turned off his car and watched the swarming campus. Students gathered and chattered excited to finally be out.

He didn't know what he'd say to her or what she'd think, but he'd felt connected to her last night. He just needed to feel that again.

Noticing her blonde hair moving through the crowd, he got out of his car. Before he could call out to her, she approached another black car. He didn't recognize it, but she didn't hesitate before climbing in.

Stepping forward, he squinted. Its windows were too dirty to see through. When its lights turned on, he jogged back to his car. He told himself he wasn't going to confront them; he'd back off just as soon as he saw who she was with.

"Angel?"

With his hand on the door, he looked up. "Hey Willow."

Frowning, she glanced at the mystery car and back at him. "You okay?"

"Yeah." He placed both hands on the car roof. "Just here to pick up-"

"-Connor."

He nodded. That made more sense than trying to see Buffy. It sounded way better than stalking her.

As Willow stepped closer, the mystery car pulled away. Squeezing his keys, he watched it speed around a corner. Feeling her gaze, he kept his voice neutral. "Any idea?"

"She's getting a ride from Spike. Probably going to the gym."

"Yeah probably." Looking back at her, he saw her suspicion. She thought he was jealous. He probably would have been if he didn't know about the recreational fighting.

Buffy was depressed and deceptive. Even if she said she was just doing dinner and a movie, he wouldn't believe it. He'd bet his car it was a cover for danger and violence. Wanting to preserve Buffy's trust, he couldn't explain that Willow.

He tapped the hood of his car once. "Decide where you're going yet?"

"College? Yeah, Oz and I will be at UC Sunnydale. I guess I'll see you around."

He nodded.

She started to turn away then stopped. "Ange . . . " There was nothing more for them to say, and she knew it.

Oz came up behind her. He nodded his greeting and the three of them stood silently.

Angel pushed back from the car. "I'm gonna see if Jenny needs help."

He strode passed them without another glance. Willow's weak "Bye Angel" didn't slow him.

When he entered the computer lab, he found Jenny and Connor packing her box of supplies.

"Thought you could use a hand."

They tried and failed to hide looks of surprise.

She handed Connor a box. "Take these to the car." Fiddling with her desk, she looked at Angel. "Can you check all the machines are off?"

He started at the front of the room and worked his way back.

The last row had been theirs. Besides study hall, this was the one period they shared. Staring at her old seat, he sat in his.

During her father's trial, she'd been spacey, absent minded. One day she left her notebook behind. He'd chased her down the hall with it. When he handed it back, she blushed — that was when he noticed what was written on the open page:

 ** _Buffy Angelus_**

 ** _Mr. and Mrs. Angelus_**

 ** _Buffy & Angel 4ever_**

The page was a doodle tribute to them, to their engagement. She'd been excited to marry him and become his wife. He'd thought if anything changed that, it'd be him: something he did or didn't do.

He used to worry about being a good boyfriend, a good enough husband. Before the breakup, he hadn't known she worried about being a good wife. She knew her suffering hurt him and she didn't know how to stop. He shared her fear of failure. He just couldn't believe she let it win.

"Why do they stay?"

Jenny stopped her rustling. "Who?"

"My mom . . . hers . . ." He continued to stare at Buffy's empty seat.

She stood and stepped around her desk.

"Why do parents keep their children and so much hell?"

Venturing closer, she leaned against a nearby table. "When I got the call about you boys, about what happened and how she died, I asked myself that a lot. No matter how many professionals I talked to or books I read, I couldn't understand it. I couldn't understand her . . . then I met Buffy."

He frowned and looked at her. "I never –"

She held up a hand. "You'd never hit her."

"Buffy's not a coward. She fights whoever hurts her."

"And she chooses to do it alone." Her hand fell back to the table. "Buffy is an incredibly strong and compassionate person"

He nodded sharply.

She continued, "and when she first came to this school, she hide the abuse."

Yes, and it had driven him crazy. He looked down. "She told her last school, and no one believed her. Her mom and Dawn lied for him."

Jenny stared at the floor. "There were two of them in your house. If your mom had gone to the police it would have been your grandfather's and your uncle's words against hers."

He shook his head. "She didn't need to convince anyone; she could have just left . . . Buffy was just a kid."

She nodded. "And now she's 18 and choosing to stay."

"She doesn't want to. Legally, she can't take Dawn with her. She's staying for her sister."

"And I hadn't lost touch with my sister –if I'd known what was going on and asked her about it, I'm sure she'd have reasons why she couldn't take you children and leave." She felt him looking at her and met his gaze. "I don't think she was right just as I don't think Joyce and Buffy are right, but I can't say they aren't trying or don't care."

Angel's jaw clenched at hearing Buffy lumped in with their mothers. She wasn't like them.

Jenny held his condemning glare. "Buffy is one of the bravest people I've met, and she's doing the best she can, and, sometimes, that's not enough."

Her words jabbed his eyes making them sting. He noticed Connor standing in the doorway and gruffed, "How long you been listening?"

Connor shrugged.

Jenny turned to see him. She glanced back and straightened. "I know you're both worried about next week."

Connor crossed his arms. "Dawn's going away before he gets out."

"To relatives?"

Angel's blinked at the floor. "They don't have any."

"Treatment, for the . . ." he drew his finger along his arm.

"Ah."

Angel twisted his Claddagh ring feeling the heart's edge poke his finger. "Hank told Joyce he was keeping his distance unless Buffy rescinds her police application."

Connor raised his eyebrows. "Score one for Buffy."

"If he's telling the truth, then yeah." Angel dropped his hand.

Jenny sighed, "We all wish he'd received a longer sentence, but he was still convicted. One wrong step and he goes back."

Stepping fully into the room, Connor closed the door behind him. "They're closing ranks. Buffy doesn't want me talking to Dawn, and their mom finished training her replacement at work."

Jenny dipped her head. "Replacement?"

"Joyce is telling customer's she's spending spend the summer with her daughters."

Both Angel and Jenny frowned.

Connor put his hands in his pockets. "When their dad slips up, no one else is going to know."

Jenny looked at Angel, but he avoided her gaze. "When she told you to leave Dawn alone, did she say why?"

"For you, for us." Connor swallowed. "She wants everyone as far from the reunion as possible."

Angel stood, "it doesn't matter. She can take him." He walked towards Jenny's desk and picked up a box. "Nowadays, Buffy can take just about anyone."

He walked out as Jenny and Connor shared anxious looks. They knew killing his abusers nearly destroyed him. Maybe Hank Somers deserved to die, Buffy didn't deserve the consequences of killing him.

They followed Angel out of the school; no one knew what to say.

Buffy assured everyone she had everything handled, but no one person could handle this. Discussing the Summers' problem only made them feel worse about it.

Angel walked back to his car alone. Besides parking outside her house every night, there wasn't much he could do; hopefully, that'd be enough. He'd witness Hank's next fuck up, report it, and put him away.

Buffy was going to hate his plan. She'd get pissed and even more secretive, and he didn't care. After setting him free, she didn't get a say about how he used his freedom. No one did.


	12. Chapter 12

**Thank you for your reviews. They're great motivation to keep going. I meant to finish this story in 2017, but moving towns and changing jobs slowed my progress. Thanks for sticking with me!**

* * *

Spike watched Buffy wipe down the exercise mats. "It's not right you doin' nuffin to celebrate."

"Celebrate what?" She chuffed, "My not going to college or my not moving out?"

"Adam, tell her she has to celebrate."

He looked up from his payment sheet. "You only graduate once."

She rolled her eyes. "That's true about a lot of things — doesn't make em' party-worthy." She tossed the dirty rags into the bin next to Spike.

"This is one of your last nights of freedom, love. Don't waste it."

She stared at the waste bin and slowly nodded.

He patted her shoulder. "Me and Adam are taking you to the Bronze."

Hearing Adam's sigh, Spike grinned. "We'll eat and dance and see if we can't get him to start a brawl."

Adam straightened to his full height. "Your flask stays here."

"In my car you mean."

"So the flask in your locker is a spare?"

"Knowin' too much ain't good for you mate. Now get to lockin' up so we can start our sober night of fun."

They shut off the lights and locked the doors. She smoothed her pony-tail self-consciously.

"You're gorgeous and you know it. Like me."

Seeing her swat Spike, Adam stepped forward. "I'd like you to ride with me."

She started to fidget. "He really hasn't been drinking."

"I know."

She shrugged before climbing into Adam's truck. Spike looked bewildered but Adam didn't explain.

He started their drive in silence.

She'd never been in his car before. It was unbelievably clean — not even dust on the dashboard. If she was a speck of dust, she wouldn't rest in here either.

"Does your investigator have your diploma?"

"Will drove me over there today to give her a copy."

"All that's left is to wait."

She risked a glance at him. "We haven't been fighting together. I haven't been fighting with anyone."

He nodded. "Following rules and trying to do right doesn't guarantee an outcome."

"I know that."

"You should always have a backup plan."

"I'll figure one out if I need it, but right now, I'm just trying to keep focused."

Adam pulled into a parking space and turned off the engine. They both stared at the entrance to the Bronze. "You'd be a competent officer."

"Almost sounds like a complement and you don't give compliments." She turned to him, but he wouldn't look at her. "I didn't get in."

"The academy will take you."

"But . . ."

"Sunnydale won't. The mayor opposes it."

"The mayor opposes me . . . He knows my dad."

"He must."

She slumped back into the seat. "That's it then."

"You can still be an officer."

"Just not here, and I can't leave here."

"Maybe not now, but your sister will be graduating soon."

"Three years."

"You have a job at my gym for as long as you want it."

"In three years, Dawn can move away. She won't need me to have a batch."

"She'll need a place to live and health insurance, just like you."

"You think I should still go to the academy."

"A few months with him could change Joyce's mind. She might be willing to move wherever you get hired. The reasoning behind your plan is still valid."

"Mom has some friends in LA . . . So does he."

"Is the mayor one of them?" He finally looked at her. "With your abilities, most departments will be interested. Go to the academy and apply wherever you can."

"And if my mom won't move?"

"With a steady job and respected references, you'll have a strong case for custody."

In the mirror, she saw Spike parking behind them. "I could talk to the mayor."

"You could."

"Or Hank."

"Neither should be trusted."

She watched her peers, dressed up and laughing, stroll to the Bronze. "Leave this place, mom, Dawn . . . everyone . . ."

"You can be the first to leave or the one who never does — living at home, working low-paying jobs and continually being disrespected by corrupt authorities."

"Everyone else is fine with that. You're the only one who supports my fight to change things."

Their quiet, thoughtful moment was broken by a rap on the door. "Oi, stop the serious talk. Come and join the fun people."

Trying to smile, she opened her door. "Not our fault you drive slow."

"How many red lights you run to beat me?" Spike nodded at Adam over the hood.

"I know a more efficient route."

He barked a laugh. "Bullocks!"

As they walked to the entrance, she wrapped an arm around him for warmth. Will returned her half-hug.

Angel walked around them. "I'll get us some nonalcoholic drinks."

Spike muttered, "Killjoy," as he led her to a table. "So what's the big lug going on about now?"

"Just fun tonight, remember?"

He gestured towards the stage. "Decent night for it."

Oz's band was playing. That meant Willow was around here somewhere. Buffy smiled at the familiar song. She knew the Dingos' set list by heart. They all did.

"Table is free."

She looked at the group leaving the pool table. Adam return just in time to join them. Two against one: Adam's favorite kind of odds.

Spike started gathering the balls. "You need a car."

"I also need money to pay for a car."

Avoiding reality, he continued, "I can see you in a sporty, lil' convertible."

"Yeah, my hair would love that."

"Or a cute, old bug."

"Ick."

Adam leaned over and took the first shot. "You should get a truck."

"Like yours?"

"That truck bed is used more often than not."

She crinkled her nose.

"Not our business mate."

Shaking his head, Adam stepped back so Buffy could shoot.

 **OoOoO**

Connor dragged him out tonight. It wasn't hard. Just hinting that Buffy might be here had him reaching for his keys. And she was. Here. With Spike.

Connor grimaced, "sorry man, I actually thought she had to work tonight."

"She did." He watched her high-five Spike. "Guess they decided to hang out after."

"I'll catch a ride with one of my friends. You can total bail if you want."

"Angelus boys! How's it hanging?" Xander slapped Angel's back and looked around for other familiar faces.

"Xander."

Spotting Willows, he patted Angels back again and kept walking. "See ya 'round."

"I really don't like that guy."

Connor shrugged. "No one does."

Another voice approach them. "I didn't expect to see you here." Cordelia leaned against their table. "There must be a college party tonight better than this."

Angel "hmmmed" noncommittally.

She touched his arm. "Dance with me."

"Cord—"

"-it's my last night of high school. Dance with me."

Letting her pull him towards the stage, he noticed Connor didn't even frown. Why would he? Everyone knew Buffy dumped him, that his favorite person abandoned him.

Cordelia stepped into him pressing his hands on her hips. She felt warm and smooth — like Buffy but different. She felt wrong. He cleared his throat. "Where will you be next year?"

"Far away from here."

He raised one eyebrow.

"Alright, LA, but that's just at first. Once I start acting, I'm going to travel the world, all of Europe."

To her, Europe was the world. He smirked. "Acting, huh?"

"You'll see. A few years from now, I'll be everywhere. You'll be haunted by my name."

"Cordelia Chase . . ." He smirked again, "I can see it."

"Won't be surprised if I hear your name too; Liam Angelus, the famous artist."

"Famous hermit maybe."

"That too,"

They dance the rest of the song, then Cordy let him go. Stepping back, his eyes immediately searched for Buffy. She still stood at the pool stable, but her back was turned. She might not even know he was here.

"Angel, you deserved better." He looked at Cordy. "You still do."

He knew she meant to sound comforting or complimentary, but those words were too much like Buffy's. He couldn't say thank you; he couldn't say anything.

She smiled sadly and walked away.

He didn't want to be here anymore, but he returned to his table anyway. He couldn't make himself leave before Buffy did. He wasn't ready to go weeks without seeing her again.

He noticed Connor standing by the door with some guys from school. Two girls joined their group. Connor had a group. He was a sweet kid; he deserved this.

Connor looked back at him and waved goodbye. They were probably on their way to the diner.

He remembered going for fries with Buffy and her friends after a night of dancing. When it was just the two of them, he'd drive them to Lover's Point. Those nights were perfect. Every night with her was.

Angel walked to the counter for another drink. He was 20 years old –almost 21. He didn't belong here anymore. He glanced back at Buffy; she was laughing at something Spike said.

It was her first real smile in over a year.

He wanted to stay for just one more, just one more moment of happiness.

 **OoOoO**

He thought she hadn't seen him. Will was a master of distraction, but not even an earthquake could rattle her awareness of him . . . Angel.

He didn't like the Bronze. He came only when she begged him too. Connor must have begged him this time or maybe Cordelia. She wondered what that dance meant. It didn't need to mean anything, but she told herself she wanted it to.

She'd severed their relationship so he could have one with someone else, someone who brought him more joy than grief; however, ending their relationship hadn't lessened their connection. She felt its pull from across the room.

"How's Mr. America get so good at husting?"

Adam leaned up as the eightball landed in an unlikely hole. "You play pool like you fight: thoughtlessly." Scowling, Spike started racking the balls. "Best two out of three."

Buffy sat down her stick. "You guys start without me."

Spike didn't look at her. "Don't belong love."

She stroked his back as she passed him. He was a good friend; like her, he understood the value of mistakes.

Angel sat with his back towards her.

She walked around his hunched shoulders so a table stood between them. "Hey."

He glanced at her but didn't say anything. Trying to respect his space, she didn't sit or touch the table, but she didn't leave either. "Thanks for taking me home last night."

He nodded absently and continued to watch the band.

She turned towards the stage but looked back at him. She wanted to ask about his summer plans but knew she couldn't. She didn't deserve to know.

She wasn't a part of his life anymore; she'd chosen not to be. Bracing herself, she murmured, "If you ever need anything, call." Noticing his body tense, she sighed, "We're not friends. We never were, but I'm here. I'm still here . . ." She just didn't know for how long.

Familiar notes started up. She looked at the band and swallowed. They'd danced to this ballad so many times. As Devon started to sing, it felt like their song – just hers and Angel's.

She didn't know what he was thinking. She couldn't look at him. Just standing near him with this song playing was painful enough.

 _If I could walk out_

 _And see another sky_

 _If I could talk about_

 _The heavens that had lied_

 _How I would love you_

 _And never walk away_

 _How I would show you_

 _I've never had to pray_

The lyrics hadn't mattered before. In Angel's arms, she barely heard them. Tonight, though, every line pierced her:

 _And we've got to run_

 _Deep through these forests_

 _Or hang upon the hill_

 _I've got a wish_

 _Something to promise_

 _But no I never will_

Relief came with the guitar solo. It was almost over. It was almost, finally, over. She knew she had to step away.

Looking back one last time, she saw him staring at her.

He straightened to his full height. "I want to show you something."

She frowned slightly, "all right."

He walked towards the exit and she followed. She glanced at Spike, but he wasn't looking at her. He trusted her with this.

Leaving the Bronze, she paused when Angel opened his car. "What about Connor?"

"He already left with his friends."

She nodded and got in too.

They didn't talk during the drive. She kept reminding herself that he preferred the quiet.

He turned on the road to campus and parked behind one of the buildings. He stepped out and she reluctantly followed.

When he pulled on the back doors, it opened and light spilled out.

He answered her unspoken question: "Most of campus stays open for summer sessions."

The building was lit and unlocked, but walking its halls proved it was empty. The only sounds were echoes of their footsteps.

When they reached a large lobby, he paused and turned; she did too.

On tall wall before them hung a six foot by 4 foot oil painting.

Its colors were rich and sinister and its subject: grotesque. She looked into the eyes of a gray, rotting, suffering demon. At this scale, she saw every shining poor, dusty wrinkle, and infected wound. She could almost smell its grime and pus. She couldn't look away.

It stared back, but it wasn't seeing her.

On its cheek lay someone's hand. Even scarred and bleeding, it was clearly human.

Its touch looked gentle. Whomever it belonged to, that's who the demon looked at. He – or she . . . the jaw and throat were shadowed. This bald, wretched creature could be male or female; it didn't matter. The artist didn't want it to matter.

Glancing at the corner, she recognized Angel's signature. "You were working on a sculpture."

"I changed my mind."

She met the painted pain-filled gaze. The pure black eyes reflected only a twinkle of light. "I worry for the hand touching it — for whoever is close to it."

"I don't."

She raised her hand towards the painting. Her fingers hovered over it. "Looks like the demon already hurt them –recently too . . ."

"Perhaps." Angel didn't sound convinced.

She knew how much those wounds hurt. She'd seen her hands in a similar shape.

She felt him look at her.

He spoke slowly. "It's us . . . We both see ourselves as cursed, undeserving of patience or trust, but you keep reaching out to me and I to you."

She took a deep breath to steady herself – then another. Finally, she looked at him. "We didn't get enough time."

"For you to get sick of me?" He smiled.

She didn't. "Just to know you." She glanced back at the painting

"We had what we had. Maybe, someday, we'll have more."

She gazed into the cursed creature's eyes. "Maybe someday."

They stood before his painting many minutes before turning away. "I don't see any other student projects here."

"Our show was in a different building. The theater department wanted to buy this one. I agreed to lend it to them while I'm here."

"Then what happens to it?"

"It'll live wherever I do. It's a part of me."

She took another deep breath then started walking back the way they came. He followed her to his car and got in.

In silence, he drove to her house. As soon as he parked, she opened the door and stepped out.

She closed it and looked at him. "Thank you for taking me to see your work. It's incredible. You're—Thank you."

He watched her walk inside. She didn't look back.

 **OoOoO**

Closing her front door, she heard voices upstairs.

She followed them to Dawn's room. Her mother and sister sat on the bed drinking hot chocolate and staring at an open suitcase.

"How's the packing going?"

Dawn shrugged. "We're taking a break."

The small suitcase was nearly full. They just didn't want to close it. That'd make this whole thing seem more real and immediate.

Buffy intentionally sat in front of it blocking it from view. She patted Dawn's knee and looked at her mom. "You sure you don't want to come?"

"I've signed all the paperwork and talked to Dr. Walsh on the phone. You girls don't need me there and I could use the extra days at the gallery."

Knowing Dawn wasn't disappointed, Buffy just nodded. With it being just the two of them, they'd take their time tomorrow — no rush, no stress. Dawn would get quality mom-time tonight and quality sister-time tomorrow. She looked content.

Buffy smiled faintly and stood. "Well, I'll leave you guys to it. I'm heading to bed. I'm beat."

"Adam kick your butt again?"

"He's like a machine." They shared another smile before she walked out.

Crossing the hallway, she opened the door to her dark room. She turned on the light and saw Angel sitting on her bed.

He looked resolute. "I don't think either of us want to be alone tonight."

Shed closed the door behind her and continued to her closet. She heard him taking off his coat.

She turned around with a handful of pajamas. "I'm going to shower. You want to brush your teeth first?"

He nodded and passed her. He knew where they kept extra toothbrushes. He knew everything about this place, about them.

Taking her hair down, she began finger-combing the knots.

He returned and she went about her nightly routine. The hot shower eased her aching hip and a wide toothed comb and did what fingers couldn't.

She entered her room brushed, clean, and utterly exhausted. Finding a shirtless Angel in her bed, she gladly crawled to his side.

He turned towards her, so she could burrow into his chest. He wrapped his arms around her, and she felt surrounded by warmth and safety.

They'd fallen asleep like this hundreds of times; it never failed to relax her – body and soul.

Pressed together, they breathed each other in. For once, both their worlds felt right. In a small bed, for a short time, they were complete.


	13. Chapter 13

Angel woke to the sight of Buffy watching his arm on her waist; maybe she watched her own hand caressing it. He shifted towards her but she didn't look at him

She spoke to his arm. "I should get up."

He murmured, "the sun isn't up yet."

Gentle and distracting, her thumb stroked his arm. "It's a big day."

Slid his arm more firmly around her, he felt her wince. "What's wrong?"

She pulled his arm higher up her waist. "Tripping over you is just hard to get over."

Her shirt rode up just enough for him to see her bruise. "Should you be driving today?"

"It's nothing."

"I can –"

"Angel." She smirked, "I'm fine."

Even if she wasn't, she wouldn't tell him. He knew that. Despite her talent for lying, his first instinct was still to believe her, to trust her.

His lips tilted up mirroring hers. She could still pull all of his strings.

She slid out of his embrace and out of the bed. "Where are you going?"

"I forgot to pack last night."

Sitting up, he watched her pull her hair into a bun and reached into her closet. "How long will you be gone?"

"Just a day or two." She shoved an arm full of clothes into the side satchel. "They're expecting Dawn today. I'll probably crash with Lindsey after."

He frowned as she left the room. She returned with a pouch of toiletries which she crammed into the bag. She stepped back and glanced around.

"You gonna see Faith?" That sounded more neutral than: _you're really gonna stay with an older man?_

"Maybe. Tomorrow, I'll try to visit." She dropped her back by the door. "I'm probably not on the list."

"List?"

She nodded. "She robbed a sporting goods store. Linds thinks it's gang-related, but that sounds too social for her." She smoothed her ponytail.

"When was this?"

She shrugged. "Before prom? She called Xander from jail to tell him she couldn't be his date." Buffy returned to the bed and sat down. "She's not accepting calls from anyone, so I doubt she wants to see me."

"I'm sorry."

"Faith is pissed at most people most of the time." She sighed, "she'll get over it."

"Will it hurt your chances of getting hired?"

She smirked. "No worse than the mayor hating me."

"How come?" Angel didn't even know the mayor's name; how did the mayor know Buffy?

"Apparently, him and my dad go back." She heard his next question even though he didn't ask it. He wanted to if her plans were changing. They were –just not like he was hoping. "Adam thinks I should apply to other departments."

"Leave Sunnydale."

She nodded.

He looked at the window. It was getting lighter. "Can I see you? You know, before . . ."

Sliding next to him, she warmed his side. She intertwined their fingers. "I hate this so much, but I don't know what else to do."

"I know." He rested his chin against her for head. "I mean, I understand."

She kissed his chest. "If I don't leave, how else am I going to stay away from you?"

"You're doing fine. I'm the one that keeps showing up."

"I shouldn't tell you this," she whispered, "but I run by your house –a lot."

He didn't move or speak; he just quietly willed her to look at him. Finally, she did.

In her eyes, he saw his pain reflected back to him. She was missing him just as desperately as he missed her.

"I'm pretty sure I'm fucking everything up."

He didn't know what to say to that, so he just held her tighter.

Her hand balled against his chest as she pushed herself up and pressed her forehead to his. "Tell me you're pissed at me–that I'm being unfair." She stroked her nose against his. "Please, push me away . . ."

He didn't.

Her lips touched his and didn't stop. He loosened his hold as she moved to straddle him. Her hands slid along his neck and into his hair.

He kissed her back with the same intensity. He wound both arms around her and rolled her under him.

Her nails scratched his scalp and back. Neither wore much, so the few scraps of cloth were easy to push aside.

As she reached down to pull him inside her, he held his breath. He'd feared he'd never feel her again and now she was all around him.

She looked up at him and caressed his cheek. He felt her hand stroke his arms and chest, his back and neck. She didn't pull her prod; she simply enjoyed the feel of him. His throat tightened with every patient, loving touch. Realizing she wasn't disappearing inside her mind, his heart relaxed.

Finally, he started to move inside her.

The caresses didn't cease.

She was here with him. She was _**still**_ here with him. He listened to every breath, gloried in every quiver, and touched her every way she liked. Hearing his name on her lips, he clamped his hand over her mouth and buried his face in her neck.

Smothered and gasping, they moved together until all their limbs went limp.

He lifted his hand and started to shift off of her. Her arms held him in place. "Please, not yet."

He nodded against her neck, he stayed where he was.

The room continued to brighten.

Birds began to sing.

He kissed her forehead and her cheeks. With closed eyes, she found his mouth and kissed him gently. His hips twitched against her and she gasped.

He slowly pulled out and slid his bottom half off of her –mostly. He continued to kiss and touch her and reveled in her responses.

The sound of a door closing startled them both. Footsteps crossed the hall and descended the stairs. This early it was likely her mom leaving for work.

Squeezing him tighter, Buffy rubbed her for head against his shoulder. Dawn would soon be up too. His whole body sheltered her as she hid from the world. Their time together was quietly running out.

Another door closed and more steps could be heard. Loosening her hold, Buffy pushed herself up. She gazed into his deep, familiar eyes trying to think of something to say.

He didn't look hopeful. This hadn't changed anything. She still couldn't give herself to him, start a life with him.

Instead of disappointment, his eyes held only compassion. She hadn't wanted him to suffer with her, but she couldn't deny the relief. Sharing pain made it lighter to carry. She leaned in and kissed him softly.

His gaze fell to bed. "I want to stay until you leave."

Nodding, she pulled back and slipped out of the bed.

He watched as she dressed for the day and redid her hair.

She left for the bathroom and he heard murmurs in the hall. She spoke to her sister and returned closing the door behind her.

She walked to the bed and crawled over him. Belly to belly, she kissed him quickly. "Mom's work friend picked her up already, so the house will be empty." She kissed him again because she could. "Use the door instead of the window."

Holding still, he watched her kiss him. His doubts faded under her easy affection.

She held his face in her hands. "If you change your mind about seeing me, I'll understand, but I hope that wasn't our last night together."

He leaned up and kissed her. "It won't be."

She hugged him tight before rolling off of him.

She grabbed a jacket and her bag. She opened the door and smiled at him. She left before he could smile back.

He listened to walk across the hall and down the stairs. She called to her sister, and closed a door.

The house was empty save for him.

Angel sat out of bed and put on his clothes. He tucked in her sheets and blankets. He arranged her pillows and looked around one last time before walking out.

In the hallway, he couldn't help noticing at each dent in the plaster.

This house remembered Hank Summers. It still bore the scars.

Descending the stairs, he brushed his hand over the cracks in the banister. After the last stair, he stopped and stared at the living room floor. The stains were faint. A new rug covered most of them, but he could make out where Summers' blood had pooled on the hardwood.

He didn't know how they lived here, how they slept surrounded by all these reminders.

And Joyce was going to welcome back the cause of all this.

Every day Buffy passed these marks - even if she didn't think about them - they kept her in a mindset of survival. She didn't want him or Dawn anywhere near this looming doom.

If his life still included his uncle and grandfather, he'd push Buffy away just as hard. He and Buffy weren't like their mothers' they protected the ones they loved.

Angel walked out of Buffy's home and into the day. The sun warmed his face. Her kiss lingered on his lips as proof of all she wanted for her herself. Buffy still dreamed of freedom.

Starting his car, he glanced back at the quiet house. Her father was going to hurt it and anyone inside. Memories of him were already hurting them.

If he could, Angel would trade all future happiness to see Buffy and Dawn free.

 **OoOoO**

"What's your guys' plan?"

Changing lanes, Buffy kept her eyes on the highway. "For what?"

"I'm not a kid you know. I noticed stuff."

Buffy frowned.

"After you drop me off, you're going to run away with Angel."

"You saw his car this morning." She sighed, "I'm hoping Golden Hills will keep you safe this summer, but it's not so I can-Angel and I are still broken up."

"You don't want to be."

"Between Adam and the Academy, I'll be training harder than ever. My summer is all push-ups and studying. No time for boyfriends."

They barely talked the rest of the drive. Dawn filled the car with music regularly feeding the car new CDs.

They reached LA around noon and stopped at a diner for lunch.

While Dawn played with her strong wrappings, Buffy's listened to the couple behind her.

Loose change jingled on the table top. "What can we get with this?"

The young girl begged her boyfried for cake.

"Don't be stupid! We gotta eat healthy. Can't have cake. Can we get pie?"

"That's better. That's got fruit."

The waitress replies, "Not sure that change adds up to a slice."

"We shouldn't have blown all our money."

"It was worth it," her boyfriend reassured. "Check this out."

Buffy glanced back as they held out their tattooed arms towards the waitress.

The waitress shrugged. "It's nice. Nice and permanent."

"Yeah, well, forever. That's the whole point."

A waiter brought Buffy and Dawn their food.

"Buffy? Buffy."

She blinked at Dawn. "Sorry what?"

"I was saying if the Academy doesn't take you, you could work here. I mean not here-here, but there is a help wanted sign." Dawn picked up her burger. "I'm just saying you don't have to go back to Sunnydale. You could spend the summer in LA –with me."

Buffy glanced at the stained walls and tight uniforms. "We'll see." The couple's the giggles scratched her brain.

"You saved all that money for an apartment with Angel. You could spend it on an apartment for you."

She sipped her coffee. "Dawn, I'll think about it, okay?"

Dawn stared at their order of fries.

Sighing, Buffy set down her mug. "I know you don't want to stay at Golden Hills all summer, and you don't can't go home either. I'm trying to do what's best for you. That's all I'm thinking about." She picked up her sandwich and finally took a bite. It was an excuse to stop talking.

Hearing a squeal, Buffy startles and chokes. The couple behind them kissed and tickled each other.

"You and Angel are way cuter."

Catching her breath, Buffy reached for her water. "Thanks."

Eventually they finished their food, but reluctant to leave, they ordered another basket of fries and two milkshakes.

Dawn ate most of hers with a spoon. "Can you ask Angel's family to keep my art stuff? I don't want him to ruin it."

"I'll take everything over when I get back." Buffy pulled a pen out of her purse and wrote a reminder on a napkin.

"Spikes place would be okay too. He'd keep it safe."

Buffy looked up from the note.

"Just, you know, if you and Spike get together. I'm okay with that."

Buffy shook her head. "He's just as hung up on someone else as I am."

"Really?"

"He's his own bucket of drama. His gym locked is covered with pictures of them."

"Too bad. You guys would be good together.

Rolling her eyes, Buffy stood and walked to the counter to pay. With her back to her sister, her humor faded.

She was glad Dawn didn't push the idea of spending Buffy's savings. That money was going to be Golden Hill's soon enough. Insurance covered less than half of the days Dawn needed.

Buffy and their mom were emptying their savings to cover the difference. They both agreed to make this happen and not cheap out by sending Dawn to friends for part of the summer.

Holtz recommended a 60 day stay, so that's what they'd pay for - even if that meant a sinkhole of debt.

Masters of secrecy, she and mom had all the hospital and insurance conversations away from Dawn. They met in her gallery office and even the locker room at Buffy's gym.

They were still considering selling the house. If Buffy couldn't get hired nearby, they'd have to sell it anyway. Walking back to the table, she passed the lovesick couple. Dawn pretended to barf in disgust.

Buffy smirked. Dawn argued she wasn't a kid to anyone who would listen, but she was still young and innocent. Dawn stood up and walked outside with her.

The sun felt warmer here. Bushes of flowers made the air smell sweet.

Opening her car door, Buffy silently promised to protect her sister –no matter what. She wouldn't lose Dawn like Angel lost Kathy. She'd do everything possible to keep her alive and whole.

 **OoOoO**


	14. Chapter 14

They shuffled to the front desk.

Without looking at either of the sisters, the nurse asked, "name?"

"This is Dawn Summers. I'm her sister. Dr. Walsh is –"

"– ah yes, Walsh." She tapped into her computer. "Here you are 'Summers.'" She stood. "All right, come this way. "Oh no, dear, only patients passed this point."

"Understood." Buffy stroked Dawn's arm and handed her a small duffel.

"I'll take that." The nurse smiled. "We need to check it for restricted items."

Still half-hugging her sister, she squeezed, "when you get phone privileges, call me, okay?"

Dawn nodded. "Your cell not the house. I know."

Buffy stepped back slowly and watched the nurse lead Dawn down the hall.

"Miss, miss."

Buffy turned to see a man behind the desk.

"If you can sign this: it's confirmation that you admitted her."

Buffy step towards the clipboard. "It's okay I'm not her guardian or whatever?"

"Yes, your mother took care of the rest. This is just for our records."

Without reading it, Buffy signed.

"She's in good hands here." He tried to catch her gaze again. "I'm Ben by the way."

She stared down the empty hall. "I'm Buffy."

"I've worked a lot of places, and Dr. Walsh is amazing –the best."

"That's what they say . . ."

"You want to sit down? If you don't mind me saying, you don't look too steady."

Buffy realized she didn't feel steady either. She glanced around for a seat.

Ben stepped around the desk and led her to a bench. It was pressed against windows. Next to her, flowers rubbed the glass.

"Tell me we didn't check in the wrong sister."

She huffed a laugh at his joke.

"This is emotional for the whole family. I get it."

She dug her elbows into her knees and leaned over them trying to breathe.

Ben sat with her quietly. After a few minutes, he leaned on his knees too and looked at her. "My sister is here too."

"Really?"

"I became a nurse so I could help her. Where she goes, I go, you know?"

"How is she?"

"Hard to say. Walsh thinks she can help her. I begged a lot of people get us here because I believe her."

"But she's not getting better . . ."

He sighed, "There are better days and worse days. For what Glory has, she's always going to need a place like this. Meds can help calm her, but she wants more than calm. She wants to feel like her, and there's not a safe way to do that."

"I had a teacher named Walsh. She was nice."

He chuckled, "I wouldn't call this one nice, but for where medicine is right now. She's at the forefront. She'll do everything she can for Dawn."

Taking a deep breath, she sat up. "Thank you."

"I know you guys drove from out of town. Are you heading straight back?"

She shook her head. "Staying with a friend."

"If you're around for lunch tomorrow, I'm off work. I could tell you how her first night went."

She looked at him. "You can do that?"

He smiled. "Families of patients gotta stick together. I know how to protect her privacy while keeping you involved."

"That'd be really great." She watched him jog back to the front desk for pen and post it. She stood as he jogged back and handed her the note.

"Call me, if you still feel up to it." In response to her frown, he explained, "you'll be surprised how you feel leaving here. Now that someone else is taking care of her, all that adrenaline and cortisol is gonna burn out. Those superpowers of not sleeping or eating much and still being able to function are going to go." He could tell she didn't believe him. She'd learn for herself soon enough.

He held her stare. "You'll feel at your weakest before you feel like yourself again. It's not just normal, it's inevitable."

She glanced at his phone number before folding it into her pocket. "Thanks for everything."

He smiled and started walking backwards. "Take care of yourself."

Turning around, he passed his desk and continued down the hall.

She watched him turn a corner and disappear. Everyone here seemed to.

She ambled back to her car and stared at the steering wheel. Where was she supposed to go now? Lindsey wouldn't be out of work yet. She didn't know anyone else here –who wasn't in jail.

She pulled out her phone to check the time. She didn't know what times or days they allowed visitors. She wasn't even sure how to get there.

Sighing, she started the car and decided to try. If she stopped moving and thinking and just let herself feel this . . . she'd never move again.

 **OoOoO**

Faith sat down slowly and crossed her arms. She didn't pick up the phone and neither did Buffy. They both leaned back in their chairs and stared through the thick glass.

Faith broke first.

Seeing her reach for the phone, Buffy reached for hers.

Faith sighed, "What are you doing here?"

"Avoiding life."

Faith's lips twitched but didn't smile. "Lindsey bring you?"

She shook her head. "Just me."

Faith leaned forward struggling for something to say. "I see you and Angel got back together." When Buffy frowned, Faith nodded at her hand

Buffy pulled the phone from her ear and noticed her ring. "Oh." Shaking her head, she brought the phone back. "Habit."

"I thought you gave it to him as part of the breakup speech."

She shrugged. "He mailed it back."

"And you're wearing it . . ." Faith's eyes narrowed, but Buffy's expression didn't give anything away. Faith raised her hand and leaned back. "Fine, if you say you're not together . . ."

"How are you doing here?"

"You came all this way to ask how I'm doin'?"

"I was already here. Figured why not?"

"LAPD already, huh?"

"What? No, I just meant LA–"

"But that's still the dream." She shook her head. "When you told me you wanna be a cop, I almost pissed myself. The arsonist engaged to a murderer wants to pick up a badge and enforce laws."

Buffy stared at the wall. "It'd just feel good to lock up a Hank Summers before he ruined a family." She sighed, "but you're right; it's pretty unlikely."

Hearing her hopelessness, Faith frowned. "Dawn's okay isn't she? She didn't . . . again . . ."

"Not that I know of. I don't even know if that was her first try." She laughed dryly. "I'm so fucking clueless."

Faith smirked. "Me too."

Buffy looked at her again. "So when are you out of here?"

"It's gonna be a while." She rolled in her lips. "I had some stuff on me . . . and I was using it." She didn't specify and Buffy didn't ask.

She didn't say anything.

Understanding her silence, Faith implored, "Don't worry about me. Lindsay's helping me. I'm handling it."

Buffy nodded mechanically. She wanted to believe her, but everything about this proved Faith was in trouble.

Desperate for a subject change, Faith shrugged. "Anyway, how was prom?"

Buffy tried to smile. "I couldn't go either."

"Because of Angel?"

"No, I didn't mind going with friends." She shrugged. "I bought a dress, got made up, but that afternoon, Dawn got something from dad. I don't know what it was, but she set off the smoke alarms burning all our photo albums."

Faith whistled. "A pair of firebugs."

Buffy laughed to herself.

"What?"

"When I told my friend from work about it, he 'borrowed' a flamethrower."

"You're shitting me."

"Him and our boss came and helped us fill his truck with my dad's clothes and stuff. They drove us way out in the dessert, and me and Dawn burned all of it."

Faith grinned. "What'd your mom say?"

"Not a word. Probably grateful we didn't torch the house."

Faith leaned back, "I'm so jealous right now."

She smirked. "Don't be. He gets out this weekend." She ran a shaky hand through her hair. "He's tried to kill us for less."

Buffy's smirk lingered, but Faith's disappeared. Buffy wasn't telling jokes; this was her life.

"B, don't go back."

She paused before she replied. She's never heard Faith sound so earnest. "She's my mom. She's Dawn's mom." She lowered her voice, "I can't let her face him alone, die alone. I just can't."

Faith understood, but it still hurt to hear. Faith didn't want to worry about Buffy and Dawn. She really didn't want to worry about Joyce.

She wondered how Angel coped with it. He knew exactly what kind of monster she was up against and he couldn't help her; it wasn't his fight.

Buffy tensed her shoulders. "You still have my number?"

Faith nodded.

"Good. I want to hear how you're doing – a lot. So call often."

She rolled her eyes. "Yes, mom."

Buffy narrowed her eyes and smiled. "I'm gonna say hi to Lindsay and get the full report."

"Our stories will match –promise."

It was Buffy's turn to roll her eyes.

Faith winked at her before hanging up the phone.

They both stood and looked at each other one last time. Neither waived nor nodded. Their jaws clenched as they turned and walked in different directions.

Walking back to her cell, Faith wished Buffy had never left LA. If they were still in each other's lives, Buffy would've been with her that night. She knew that. Buffy would've gotten arrested with her and they'd both be in jail right now. It was the one place Hank Summers couldn't reach her.

Faith sat on her bunk and brainstormed distractions, but everything she thought of sounded better with Buffy. She remembered this feeling. If Angel was smart, he'd numb it with drink or drugs. They're the only thinks that worked.

Calling Buffy wouldn't lessen this loneliness; it'd just increase her worry. Faith wasn't going to call, and Buffy wasn't going to come back.

Faith didn't have to wonder about her though. Lindsey would call if Hank killed her or if Buffy killed him. Faith didn't see their story ending any other way.


	15. Chapter 15

"Come on, ya pathetic bastard."

Angel stood at his open door staring at his friend.

"Yer not broodin' the night before yer wedding."

"The wedding that was canceled . . ."

"Exactly."

Angel felt a push from behind.

Connor nodded. "Out you go."

Frowning, Angel trudged to Doyle's car.

"No need to look glum. Fairly sure, a pint with your mate won't end ya."

As they pulled away from his house, Angel check his pockets. Before Buffy, he didn't even have a cell phone. Now he was never without it.

Feeling the edges of his phone, he tried to relax. If she needed him, he'd hear it. She was the only one called him.

"What are your tomorrow plans then?"

 _Waiting for Buffy._ Not wanting to talk about the night before, he simply shrugged.

Doyle shrugged back. "So no reason to bring ya back early then." He flicked on the radio. For the rest of the drive, he sang along to cheesy country songs. Angel tried not to cringe.

He drove them one town over and parked in front of a dark single-story building. The words "Girls Girls Girls" were lit up and blinking.

Angel frowned.

Opening his door, Doyle looked at him. "They won't bite –won't even touch ya; trust me, I've asked." He winked and stood up.

Reluctantly, Angel stood too. "This won't help."

Doyle walked around the car and slung an arm around his friend dragging him towards the strip club. "Was gonna bring you here for your bachelor party. It's more fittin' now." He slapped his back. "She was da first lass you saw witout her knickers. She won't be da last."

Angel wouldn't have come here the night before his wedding; he would've found Buffy and spent the night with her. If she was in town tonight, he'd be doing just that.

Doyle opened one of the double doors and music and voices poured out.

They walked in and sat a table. Immediately, a waitress came to take their drink orders. Doyle ordered for both of them; he ordered _**a lot**_ for both of them.

Meanwhile, Angel watched the brunette on stage. She was pale and captivating, like a myth come to life. She was also visibly weak. Moving slowly, she avoided putting all her weight on either foot. When she swung on the pole, her arms quivered. He looked at his friend, but Doyle was staring after their waitress. "Molly okay with tonight?"

"Told me to buy ya a lap dance. 'Course I said I'd need to buy myself one too – so ya wouldn't feel embarrassed."

"Thoughtful."

Doyle grinned. "What our best mates fer?" The waitress returned with their first round of drinks.

Shaking his head, Angel watched the next dancer begin her routine. She was blonde and petite. The audience loved her. As she moved closer, he noticed her arms and legs were fuller and more defined than the brunette. She climbed the pole confidently and smiled at the room. Pumping out images of Buffy, his heart ached. He wanted to call her but knew he shouldn't. His gaze fell to his drinks and stayed there.

"Granted, none of these are as buff as your Buff, but they're not nuffin'." Doyle's shoulder bumped his. "That one might be up for an arm wrestle."

Looking up, Angel saw a full-chested, muscled woman performing naked acrobatics. Her hair was short, close-cut, but no one was looking at her hair. She contorted her body into alluring, impossible shapes. Watching her gyrate on her hands, he noticed her striking blue eyes; both in color and size they were startling.

Though more talented, she didn't earn nearly as much as the previous dancers. Everything about her communicated strength and ability. She didn't seem to want or need anything from anyone. Her dark hair and blue eyes weren't Buffy's, but her independent spirit was. He looked away and finished his drink.

As the waitress set more drinks before him, a man caught his attention.

In the corner closest to him stood Spike, dressed in black and scanning the room. The room wasn't dark enough to hide anyone, but his gaze passed Angel without pause. Spike knew he was here and was leaving him be.

He mumbled to Doyle "I'll be right back" before walking to his post. "Hey."

Spike nodded.

Standing side-by-side, they both watched the room with crossed arms. "Auditioning for my job?"

"You hear from her today?"

"Didn't expect to." He shrugged. "She's staying with the teacher or something."

"Counselor."

"Someone to talk to."

"It's weird them being friends. They're almost 10 years apart."

"She's a weird girl."

They continued watching the room. Angel felt more comfortable watching the patrons than the strippers. "Guess this place pays better than the gym."

Spike nodded. "Buffy would make a killing here."

Glancing at the naked woman shimmying on stage, Angel tensed.

"As security, you git. Though won't be surprised if they tip her."

"So she's really doing it . . ."

"While lil' bits away, she's gonna try a couple shifts. Cleaner than the Double Meat Palace if you ask me."

He considered the words and the space. "This place need another?"

"Not worth it mate." Spike turned towards him slightly. You'd be on opposite shifts." Seeing Angel's shoulders droop, Spike smirked at the stage. "If you want, I could ask Du to chat with her – bring her 'round to dancing."

Angel followed his gaze to stage. The fragile brunette had just begun another dance. He remembered Buffy telling him Spike had a girlfriend, but . . . "Buffy said she competed."

He smiled proudly. "Bloody lethal she was." Watching her lean on the pole for support, his lips tightened. "My fault though. She broke her collarbone a while back. I got her something."

Dru's eyes were glazed and unseeing. She danced offbeat to music only she heard.

"If Buffy gets hurt again, don't offer her anything."

He snorted. "I marvel at your optimism. When goldilocks breaks, she'll take to hospital where docs will give her whatever she wants - like the respectable drug peddlers they are." One of the patrons drew his eye. "Excuse me peaches."

Watching them go, Angel imagined knocking him out. Spike enjoyed irritating and provoking people, and often enough the truth did just that. Reminding himself that Spike could definitely kick his ass, Angel returned to their table.

Food and more drinks greeted him. He pushed the shots towards Doyle and started picking at the finger food.

"That was the wrong lad to ask about private dances,"

"He's Buffy's friend."

"You beg or bully his silence?"

"No need. Can't imagine her caring." He slumped his acceptance.

"In that case," Doyle nodded towards the back rooms, "meet Darla."

Angel wiped his hands on a napkin. "I'd rather just go home."

"No blondes. Good call." He nodded at another. "Miss Winnifred here has darker hair and longer legs than your ladylove."

"Doyle."

"No Doyling me. We're not leavin' till you're dreaming about these lovelies or too sloshed to dream at all." He nudged the whiskey shot back towards him.

Realizing the wafey brunette was approaching, Angel gulped down the drink. Doyle slid over some bills and Angel followed Winnifred to a curtained off area.

Smiling sweetly, she began dancing almost innocently. He watched her eyes for the duration though they were mostly shuttered to him. She reminded him of Willow.

"Ain't a sin to enjoy it honey."

Even her accent was sweet. Nodding, he sat tensely until she finished.

When she reached for her robe, he let himself observe her body. At such close range, he could confirm her flawlessness – no bruises or scars. He'd never seen Buffy's body like that. She was scarred when he met her, in more ways than he could see.

He walked out of the room and strode towards Doyle who was flirting with their waitress. Without sitting or pausing, Angel drank every drink on the table. "Time to go."

Doyle nodded and stood. "Apologies lass, best man duty calls."

She smiled at Angel. "Good luck tomorrow."

Angel barely nodded. He loomed expressionless as Doyle laid a tip on the table. Then he walked outside without looking back. He waited by the driver side with hand outstretched.

Doyle jogged to catch up. "What's this mate?"

"I'm driving."

Doyle threw up his arms. "Good luck on dat one." Seeing Ange's frown, Doyle pointed to the car. "Look inside. Keys are tucked there by da driver seat –safe as houses." He grinned. "We've successfully gotten too drunk to drive."

Angel closed his eyes fighting the urge to hit him.

"Now, we're gonna toddle over to da diner for coffee and mash. Won't sober us, but it's something to do while we wait fer a cabbie."

Realizing Doyle locked his keys in before either of them drank a drop, Angel's whole body sagged. This night was always going to last longer than he wanted. Nothing he did or refused to do could shorten it.

 **OoOoO**

Angel stumbled into his house after midnight.

Feeling dizzy and overly full, he fell into bed fully dressed. Hearing his pants ring, he winced. He dug the sound out of his pocket. Flipping it open silenced the jingling but produced a painful light. He squeezed he eyes shut and croaked, "Buffy?"

"You won't hurt him again, right?"

He rubbed his stinging eyes. "What?"

"That was like a onetime thing. Tell me you won't go after him."

"What are we talking about?"

She whispered, "my dad."

He realized Buffy was whispering everything she said. She didn't want someone to hear her, but she needed to talk to him now– about her dad? "Buffy, what's happened?"

"You were lucky last time. We both were. Most of these injuries weren't defensive. With your history, they could've charged you."

"My history?" It actually took him a second to remember.

"You hurt him more than you had to."

His eyes flew open. "He was fucking molesting you!"

"And you almost killed him." She was still whispering.

He could barely hear her, and it was pissing him off. He ground out. "Buffy." He couldn't think beyond her name.

"If I had known what you'd been through, I never would have let you near my life."

"You would have avoided me like everyone else."

Her voice grew stronger. "You have to promise you'll leave him alone."

His tightening lips resembled a smile. "What, scared I'm plotting his murder?"

"Angel!" She lowered her voice again. "Just stay away from the house. No following me anywhere, no intervening. Promise me."

"If I see him strangling your mom or you, you want me to walk away."

"Yes." Her answer was loud and firm. "Call 911 if you want, but stay back, okay?"

"No. No fucking way." He thought he heard her sniffing back tears. The sound was giving him a headache.

"Don't make this harder than it has to be."

He pressed his fist against his forehead. "You make everything harder than it has to be." Shaking his head, he closed his eyes again. "You dumped me months ago and you're calling now to what? Push me further out of your life?" His fist fell to the bed. "Babe, I can't get much further."

She stayed quiet a moment. "Just promise."

He sighed, "No." She wanted to protect him just as desperately as he wanted to protect her. They both had to accept the limitations. He opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling. "You can't control everything."

She got quiet again.

He wanted to reach the phone and hold her.

"If I can't trust you to take care of yourself, I'll file a restraining order."

Frowning, he struggled to sit up. "Against me?" He started laughing. "Right. Because I'm the problem." He let himself fall back against the bed. "Jesus, I really am gonna get locked up because of you."

"Maybe, but it won't be for 25 years."

"Please just stop. Stop trying to protect me and stop protecting your mom. Dawn, I get; she's a kid, but this – Buffy, this is crazy."

The line was quiet. He couldn't even hear her breathe. He pulled the phone away; it kept counting the seconds of the call. She hadn't hung up on him but she wasn't saying anything either. He covered his mouth to keep from talking. She didn't need coaxing. She needed time.

After many second, she murmured, "I wish we were getting married tomorrow."

With his hand heavy on his mouth, he couldn't reply.

She continued, "It'd be nice to come home to you . . . go back to that little apartment and close the door on the world."

He lifted his hand. "What apartment?"

"I never told you, but I found a place for us."

"You did?" He started to smile.

"After the engagement, I was so excited, I started apartment hunting. It was way too soon, but I found this great basement level studio downtown. No one wants it because of the light – there's like no windows but I thought it was perfect for us, cozy. The landlord runs a business on the first floor, a talent agent thingy."

"A talent agency in Sunnydale."

She chuckled. "Somehow he makes it work. One time, I ran into Cordy there."

"You went there more than once."

"I kept checking if it was still for rent. Lorne, the landlord, kept lowering the rent trying to get me to sign, but I told him we weren't ready. You hadn't even graduated and we didn't have enough money saved. I asked him to call me when it rented. He's never called . . . If you saw it, you might think I'm crazy. It's dark and small" she laughed "and really cheap."

"Why didn't you tell me?" He sensed her shrug.

"I had this fantasy of putting down a deposit and surprising you after prom. It has a small nook perfect for a mattress. The utilities are connected to the first floor, so it'd be warm and the lights would work. Even if you hated it, I hoped the location would win you over: close to Jenny and Connor, my gym, the gallery. The commute to campus would've been fine cuz we'd be doing it together."

He swallowed a couple times before finding his voice. "It could be a sewer and I would've loved it."

"I thought you'd say that."

His smile grew. They knew each other well, but they could still surprise each other.

"I should let you go. Sorry for waking you."

He tried to sit up again. "Will I see you tomorrow?"

"Yeah, don't know when though."

He rolled to his side. "Good, good. That's good."

"Sleep Angel." He heard a smile in her voice. He didn't reply or hang up. He just listened to her breathe. With the phone to his ear, he fell asleep.

 **OoOoO**

Lindsay leaned against the doorway watching her sit on the sofa.

Her thumb rubbed the phone in her lap. "You're not wrong. Everything you said . . . I'm just too tired to fight him."

He sat on the armrest closest to her. "I didn't say anything tonight that you both didn't already know. He's making a choice and it's not necessarily the wrong one."

"You think I'll regret letting him choose me."

He sighed, "I don't know. No one can say how things will turn out."

"I miss him all the time. I don't realize how much until I hear his voice. It's hard to breathe without him."

He smiled at her dramatic phrasing and lay a hand on her shoulder. "I know kid."

"How do I hold myself together for what comes next?"

Seeing the desperation in her eyes, he squeezed her shoulder. "Maybe you don't. Just surround yourself with people who love you no matter what."

She leaned into his side and noticed her breathing shallow and waver. She needed Angel.


	16. Chapter 16

Buffy ran and jumped onto him just like she used to do.

He caught her firmly as if he'd been waiting for her.

She pressed her forehead to his and whispered, "I don't want to be apart anymore."

He looked from her eyes to her cheeks to her sun-soaked hair murmuring, "me either."

She kissed him tenderly. He closed his eyes and savored her.

Somehow, she slipped his hold to stand on her own feet. Smiling up at him, she took one of his hands. "Let's go inside."

He smiled back and let her lead him into his house. They walked quietly down the hall. She opened his door slowly and stepped inside. His feet froze.

Behind his door wasn't his bedroom.

He stared at the murder scene –bodies and all.

She pulled on his hand, but he couldn't move. "Angel, what's wrong?"

His mouth was open but no words fell out.

"Come on." Her hand slipped from his.

He watched her walk towards the desk, towards his sister who was bleeding and rotting on top of it.

Buffy leaned down and brushed Kathy's hair from her face. She cooed, "It's okay now. Everything is okay."

"Buffy, don't!" He stumbled forward, but he was too late.

Buffy lay her head next to his sister's. When he reached her, Buffy was just as dead.

His shaking hand hovered over her paling skin. Blood pooled around her. Her eyes slowly turned milky and her whole face bloated and sagged like his sister's. Dead eyes gazed at each other.

He coughed as the smell of their bodies choked him.

Death filled his mouth and lungs; he couldn't cough it out.

He ran from the room and started screaming. "Help! Jen! Connor!" His voice broke. "Somebody help!" He feared his home was empty. "She needs-" A hand on his arm startled him. Expecting to Jenny, he swung around and saw his grandfather instead.

"Building quite the collection boy. Makin' us proud you are."

Angel pulled back and fell against the wall behind him. Immediately, he regretted leaving her. Buffy needed him. He ran back to his door. Yanking on the handle didn't open it. "Buffy!"

Howling, he rammed it with his shoulder – again and again. He backed up and kicked it with all his strength.

Instead of breaking it open, he woke up.

Sweating and freezing, he stared at the ceiling. He turned his head and was surprised to see his window instead of that desk. The desk wasn't there. Neither were the bodies. They never had been. This was a different room, different house, different state.

He pulled at the neck of his shirt. He felt like it was strangling him.

His other hand felt around for a cigarette. After a few pats, he remembered he stopped carrying them. Buffy hadn't liked the taste; besides, she calmed him better than tobacco ever did. Pulling himself upright, he swung towards his bedside drawer. He rooted through there then stumbled towards his desk. He knew he hadn't thrown them all away; he'd just forgotten where he packed them.

Where did he used to keep them? He remembered seeing a few tucked with his pencils, the ones he'd given to Connor. He hadn't trusted himself to sketch anything besides her, so he'd thrown most of his art supplies into the box of old drawings. Connor probably just shoved it to the back of his closet.

He tried to focus on his breathing rather than his nausea. Connor would hate being woken up this early, but mint tea wasn't going to cut it. He needed to calm down and right now, those cigarettes were his best hope.

He struggled towards his door, opened it, and lumbered across the hall. He opened Connor's door carefully and crept towards his closed. He slid open one side, frowned, and slid open the other. There'd under wrinkled t-shirts and a pair of jeans, he spied the corner of a box. He crouched over it and reached inside with both hands. Pages cut his hands and pencil tips stabbed them and every noise he made risked waking Connor.

He didn't want his brother to see him like this again. He'd stood on this cliff before; he knew the bottomless black waiting for him. Finally, his fingers felt his trusty lighter. It was tied to a crush but nearly full box of cigarettes.

He pulled it and stood up; he didn't risk moving the closet door again. Turning around, he met his brother's concerned state.

"I j-just neededed a smoke." He hurried out of the room and out of the house. On the dark, cool porch, he lit up salvation.

Taking his first frag, he imagined breathing in warmth and peace and breathing out the nightmare.

The door behind him opened. He heard Connor's heavy footfalls step out. Angel could always hear the difference between his brother and his aunt.

"Doyle told me what he had planned. I'm sorry. I didn't think . . . "

The hand holding the cigarette trembled. Angel hadn't enjoyed his night out, but he doubted it caused this. "Buffy called."

"Did something happen with Dawn?"

"No." He frowned at the street. "I don't know."

Connor leaned against the wall and put on a sweatshirt. His hands scrubbed his face trying to fully wake him.

Angel turned over the lighter in his pocket. "Aunt Jen thinks she's like mom."

"She's not." Connor sounded offended.

Angel continued, "But she is a lot like Kathy."

"But Kat was so quiet."

"She wasn't always. Before they . . . she was loud and annoying –followed me everywhere."

"I don't . . . "

Angel didn't expect him to remember. "You liked to read and play by yourself, but Kathy . . . she loved to swim and swing with the neighbors. She'd climb the tree in our front yard and jump out just as I was walking home." He coughed. "Scared the shit out of me."

Connor's eyes widened, "that's how she broke her arm."

"Mom was pissed – thought I encouraged her. She was just so small; it was hard not to laugh."

Connor shifted against the wall. "I barely remember that."

"I looked forward to seeing her grow up, see who she'd be in the world . . . she's dead and I'm still wondering." His cigarette was burning too fast. Angel started to pull out another.

"I don't know how to talk about her. My friends don't know we had a sister."

"For a while, I was sure I remembered her all wrong. She couldn't have been that fearless kid. She was just pretending. She had to be . . ." He dropped his cigarette butt and stamped it out. He flicked his lighter and watched flame meet paper. "But Buffy – I've seen her fake innocence and joy, but I've also seen her truly happy and strong . . . even reckless." He shuddered out a smoky breath. "They're so damn alike."

"The reason that's not creepy is because it's not true. You're scared she'll _**end up**_ like Kathy –just like Jenny is scared she'll end up like mom and I worry she'll end up like you . . ."

Angel turned toward him with a frown.

"Angel, she's not us."

Angel shoved his free hand back in his pocket. "You think she'd actually hurt him?"

"I saw her take down a jock in less than a minute."

"When'd she do that?"

"A couple days before she dumped you. He was harassing Dawn. I thought you knew."

He shrugged and glanced back at the street. "Pretty sure I was on a need to know basis when we were together." He smoked and considered her phone call. "I don't know why she's being so open with me now. It's nice, different. But she just threatened me with a restraining order, so trust is shaky."

Connor choked out a laugh. "Hers are yours?"

"Both." Angel felt a smirk on his lips.

"No wonder you're out here chain-smoking."

"We're both fed up with waiting. We want to do something — even if it's the wrong thing."

Connor yawned. "Take it easy today, alright?"

He nodded. "I'll probably just sleep. I might go over there tonight or she might come here."

"If she doesn't have a restraining order by then."

Angel pulled out another cigarette, "yeah, assuming that."

Connor leaned forward and straightened from the wall. "I'm gonna crash." He plucked the carton away from him before returning inside.

Angel called after him. "Thanks."

Connor waved it off.

Hearing the door click closed, Angel turned back towards the street. He watched the sun scratch and claw its way up the sky. Stamping out his last cigarette, he grimaced at his stale wrinkled clothes.

He trudged inside and grabbed sweats before hitting the shower.

He didn't want to smell like a rotting brewery when Buffy showed up.

 **OoOoO**

She couldn't stop yawning. Having changed her mind about meeting Ben, Buffy hoped to be home before noon. When she called to tell him she was heading home early, he said he understood and wished her lots of rest. He told her about Dawn's noneventuful first night and promised to keep her updated. She'd spent most of the drive fighting sleep and daydreaming about being in Angel's soft bed, in his warm arms, in his quiet house.

Her mom would want the car back asap, but she wouldn't mind dropping her off at Angel's. After all, his house was right by her work. Thinking about the gallery, Buffy felt a pang of sympathy for her mom. She put so much into that place. It was her mom's dream. She loved it like another child and like the rest of her children, it would suffer her neglect.

Buffy pulled up to the curb with a frown. There were people, two people, waiting on her porch. She grabbed her bag and dragged her feet towards them.

Giles and Jess met her on the sidewalk.

"What's up guys?"

"We're here to bring you in." Jesse lifted up a wrapped cap and gown. "Time to face the pomp and circumstance."

Giles stepped forward. "Miss Calendar overheard you two in the office. She may have shared her concerns with Ms. Rosenberg."

Jess nodded. "Willow and Oz are sitting on Xander." He shrugged. "If we have to go to this thing, so do you."

Giles lowered his voice. "You have the rest of your life to be anonymous. Just for today, let yourself be recognized."

"Fine." She rolled her eyes. "Let me drop this stuff off, then we can go.

Jesse smiled. "And Wills thought I couldn't do it."

Giles nodded. "Which is why she sent me with you."

Buffy passed them with a chuckle and unlocked her door. "Mom? I'm back." Following the smell of coffee, she saw her mom at the kitchen counter.

Joyce leaned up from the newspaper. "Everything go all right?"

"Your car is fine, so is Dawn." She tossed the keys on the counter and shirked her bag on the stairs. "I'm heading to graduation. Want to come?"

Joyce smiled sadly and shook her head. "I should check in with the shop. You have a nice day with your friends."

Buffy turned back towards the stairs. Her hand paused on the banister. Taking a deep breath, she turned around, "I'd really like you there."

Joyce set down her coffee and walked around the counter.

When her mom hugged her, Buffy hugged her back.

"This day is yours. Enjoy it." Her mom ended the hug as abruptly as she started it. She gathered her keys and purse and nodded goodbye before walking out the door.

After lightly hitting her head against the wall, Buffy picked up her bag and jogged up the stairs. She tossed her stuff in her closet and grabbed a jacket. On her way down the stairs, she twisted her hair at the base of her neck and pinned it. She pocketed her own house keys and hurried out the door.

Giles looked at her sympathetically. He couldn't have missed her mom driving off.

Buffy dug her hands in her pockets and tried to smile. "Let's do this."

 **OoOoO**

"Got you too huh?" Xander looked ridiculous in his red cap and gown.

"My fault for showing up at the house," She smirked. "Of course that be the first place they check."

They got me at the gas station. I knew I should've filled up out of town."

Oz shrugged. "Wouldn't have mattered. She had the whole band on the lookout."

Willow bounded up to them with her tassel bouncing over her face. "Thanks for coming guys. I would have missed you so much."

"That's it?" Jesse frowned. "No lecture about responsibility and grown-uphood?"

Xander shook his head. "This is her happy day."

Willow hopped a little. "Of course it is, we're graduating, the mayor as speaking, there might be an eclipse-"

"Wait, what?" Buffy's eyes bugged.

"You haven't heard? There's gonna be a full eclipse today. It will probably happen during the ceremony."

Buffy shook her head. "Mayor Wilkens is the speaker?"

Jess nodded. "Lame, right? Last minute sub."

Willow frowned at his empty hands. "Where is your hat?"

"Uh . . ."

"Go get it. You'll need it for the tassle-thing when they give you your diploma."

He scratched his shaggy hair. "That's gonna be a problem. See, it's kinda on the roof. I can try to get it." He turned and looked at the shingled roof. "I've never been up there before."

Hearing his excitement, Buffy lay a hand on his shoulder. "Let's not almost die today."

Willow sighed, "You shouldn't try to get it down. I just don't understand why you threw it up there."

"Total accident. I was trying to proving it'd work as a frisbee. I didn't expect it to be so right."

Seeing Xander reach for his own hat, Willow hissed, "Don't you dare."

Buffy's hand dropped from Jesse shoulder. "Let's get one of those pamphlet thingies and find our seats."

Willow squealed, "Yes, I want to see all our names printed and serif-y."

Buffy nodded indulgently, "you got it."

Oz followed leaving Xander and Jesse still staring at the roof.

Willow waved and smiled at everyone they passed as if they'd been her best friends. She even grinned at Cordelia.

Instead of commenting, Buffy linked her arm through hers and pasted on her own smile. Their last names of Rosenberg and Summers ensured they'd be next to each other. When they sat down, Willow leaned close. "Do you want to hang out after? Xander's car started leaking, so he can't leave until tomorrow."

"Tell me you didn't."

Willow startled, "I-I would never."

"Chill Wills. It was a joke — kind of."

"I was thinking we could all go to the Bronze – Oz and Jesse; you could invite Angel if you want. One last night of the whole gang."

Buffy tilted her head. "Angel?"

"I saw you two there this week. You were talking –not fighting, and you left together."

"We did." She saw so much hope and Willow's eyes.

"So?"

"So, I'll call him after this and ask if he wants to come."

Willow clapped. "That is so great. He'll definitely say yes." She nudged her shoulder. "You guys might not be getting married today, but you're talking again and dragging each other places. And you're about to graduate."

Buffy nodded along. "You're right Will. Tonight will be great."

"Oooh, it's starting."

Principal Snyder stepped on stage and glared at everyone before introducing their speaker.

Buffy hearing dimmed as Wilkens stepped toward the podium.

"Well, what a day this is! A special day."

She wanted to believe he cared about the town, about its people. Maybe he blocked her application out of concern – not wanting to see an 18 year old girl added to the list of officers killed in the line of duty.

"Today all the pain, all the work, all the excitement is finally over. . ."

She thought of Dawn sitting in the mental hospital and her mom getting drunk at the gallery.

"It's been a long road getting here. There has been achievement, joy, good times. And there has been grief. There's been loss." His eyes found hers. "Some people who should be here today -aren't." He grinned at her. "But we are."

She felt as hollow as his smile. Faith was lost to her.

His gaze drifted over the crowd. His mouth continued opening and closing. "Today is about change. Graduation doesn't just mean your circumstances change, it means you do. You ascend to a higher level. Nothing will ever be the same. Nothing."

All light faded. "It has begun. It's a little sooner than I expected . . ."

Graduates and parents and grandparents chattered as the sun disappeared.

Mayor Wilkens laughed and gave the stage back to Principal Snyder. Both men stood urged the crowd not to look directly at the eclipse.

A beach ball rose from the graduates. When it landed, a student screamed. Another beach ball went up, then another – screams followed each one and caused other screams to rise up. Students stood and moved while parents shouted their children's names.

Buffy didn't stand with the others. She sat calmly letting Willow cling to her arm as their whole class caused panic and panicked in turn. Willow knelt on her chair and started to stand on it like some of the others.

"Willow, that's not a –" it wobbled backwards and Willow shrieked as Buffy pulled her to safety. "It's okay will. You're okay."

Grabbing her hand, Buffy leading her out of the thinning but raucous crowd. The sky was already starting to brighten again, but it didn't matter. Order and civility were shoved and trampled.

Mrs. Rosenberg called out to Willow. Shouting back, Willow pulled away. Buffy glanced around for Xander and Jesse. She didn't see them, but she wasn't worried. She suspected one of those beach balls was Jesse's.

A number of student started throwing their hats up. Two of them hit hers before she ducked inside the school.

As the door closed behind her, silence prevailed. She let out a breath and walked farther down the hall. Her hat started tilting. She pulled it off and heard one of her pins hit the floor. She smoothed her frazzled hair and crouched to pick it up.

Realizing where she was, she paused on the ground. A few feet away was where Angel first kissed her. She'd been injured at the time; he'd been worried, but when he kissed her, none of that mattered.

He made the rest the world disappear so easily. It always came back, but for a few moments, she lived another life with him. Her chest felt heavy. She wanted to close the distance she'd put between them. If she hadn't forgotten her phone at home, she'd call him right now.

She stood slowly and looked back at the library doors. The room was dark. It had been last year too. She'd dragged Angel here to fool around before his graduation ceremony. They got carried away and ended up making love in the stacks. It had been awkward and uncomfortable and perfect.

While helping each other dress again, they realized they'd broken his hat. She tried to apologize, but he kept kissing the words away. When she stopped talking, he put on his his cracked hat, took her hand, and walked out proudly.

Later on stage, he moved the tassel from one bent half to the other and threw her a knowing smirk. She'd giggled and blushed.

That day had been a true celebration. This one was felt like a bad joke.

She wanted to step back in time with him –to see him smiling at her and telling her she was his dream come true.

Her eyes fell to the ground as she continued down the hall. Her chest pains eased, numbed. Nothing around her felt real –not the hat in her hand or the pin in the other.

Somewhere, she heard the echo of footsteps. Not wanting to see anyone, she turned a corner towards the closest exit. As she neared the door, the footsteps behind her sped up.

She felt hot and cold all at once.

She hurried to the door and ran outside.


	17. Chapter 17

Jesse stood on the roof staring at the sky

Pantin, Xander climbed up beside him. "I think we broke there gutter thing. So where's your hat anyway?"

Jesse shrugged. "Wrong roof."

"If you think I'm pulling myself up another roof in this stupid dress –"

"Calm down buddy. Look around; we are on top of the campus." He walked along the roof looking for a way to get higher.

Xander stared at his shoes trying to maintain his balance. Something hit his neck, and his gaze flicked up. He frowned at Jesse aiming a Nerf gun at him. "Seriously, is there anything you don't have under that skirt?"

"Catch!" Jesse tossed the gun to him.

Xander nearly fell catching it. "Now we're talking." As soon as he raised the gun to Jesse, Jesse pulled out another, longer gun. Jesse pumped the underside and shot him with a stream of water.

Xander sputtered and blinked.

"Lookin' good man." Jesse ably ran across the roof and Xander stumbled to follow.

None of his foam bullets came close to hitting him.

Taking pity, Jesse jogged closer. Xander's aim didn't improve, but this close, Jesse squirt the back of his neck.

Swinging around, Xander tripped on the slope.

Jesse raised his gun giving him a moment's relief. Stepping towards the edge of the roof, he glanced back. "Think I can jump this?"

"Dude, there is a literal hallway between these buildings." Xander walked up beside him and shot him in the ear. "That big skirt will not act as a parachute."

Jesse chuckled "Damn." Without looking over, Jesse shot water at Xander's crotch.

Xander jumped stumbled backwards. "Yo, what is that?"

"It's just water. Stop freaking."

Xander stilled. "No, Jesse, what is _THAT_?"

Jesse followed Xander's stare. "Fuck." He crouched and lowered himself off the roof. When his feet hit the ground, he dropped the water gun and started sprinting towards the parking lot.

Panting and sweating, he slid the side of the body: red gown, blonde hair and blood, lots and lots of blood. "Hey, can you hear me? Can you talk?"

He leaned closer and carefully pulled her hair from her face. "Hey, can you - _ **Buffy?!**_ " He sat back on his heels but the face didn't change. Buffy was unconscious and bleeding. Most of the blood came from head, but her leg – he covered his mouth with his arm – he could actually see part of her leg's bone. It was just a point, but it was there. His arm fell from his mouth and into his gown digging for his phone. He jerked it out and dialed 9-1-1 trying not to look the blood.

Xander ran up behind him. "Is she okay?"

"It's Buffy."

"What –"

Jesse didn't look at him as someone picked up. "Sunnydale high. A girl's been hit. Buffy Summers. It looks like she's been run over. She's not – she's –" Jesse pressed his fingers to her neck. "She has a pulse. She's breathing." He looked up at Xander who was staring mutely at their mangled friend. "Keep watch for an ambulance. Make sure no one drives this way."

He didn't move.

"Xander!"

He barely startled and slowly walked backwards.

"Xander, watch the fucking road! Getting run over won't help her."

Nodding absently, Xander turned around. In his peripheral vision, he noticed a red splotch. He looked down at the blood on his shoes . . . Buffy's blood. Buffy was bleeding. Buffy was here and bleeding, but she wasn't supposed to be here. She didn't want to come to graduation. This was a mistake. Neither of them planned to be here today.

This could be happening, but not to them . . . not to her.

 **OoOoO**

"It could be worse." Jenny smiled watching Rupert dry his glasses.

"Throwing water balloons in the middle of a graduation – doesn't anyone fear their fathers anymore?"

"At least they didn't set off fireworks." She smirked, "it's what I did at my graduation."

He scowled. "You didn't perchance give the students any suggestions . . ."

She shook her head. "This is all them. Gives you faith in the next generation, don't it?"

He watched students and parents straightening lawn chairs and smoothing their hair. "Quite a chilling prospect."

Principal Snyder climbed the stage again. "Sit down and be quiet."

As people started to obey, a siren sounded – becoming louder as it drew closer.

Giles straightened his glasses. "Pulled fire alarm or has someone actually set us aflame?"

She nodded. "Fireworks can be tricky." She followed him back to their seats while Snyder started reading off names.

One by one the remaining students accepted their diplomas. So many graduates and their families had bailed after the eclipse that the ceremony went fairly quickly.

Snyder called out "Buffy Summers." She didn't appear.

Giles frowned. Since Mr. Harris hadn't appeared either, he supposed she could have left with him. Obviously, the two of them had been of the same mind about today.

Rather than surprise at her stubbornness, Giles felt disappointment. She didn't suffer anyone's interference – including his.

The graduation came to a speedy and quiet conclusion with the students having no caps to throw or energy to whoop and holler.

He stood with Miss Calendar and nodded at the departing families.

Miss Rosenberg and Mr. Ozborne approached.

She tried and failed to return his smile. "Thanks for your help Mr. Giles. I guess they really didn't want to be here." She sighed and so did he.

Jenny leaned forward. "It was sweet of you to try."

Willow didn't know what else to say.

Oz filled the silence. "We're going to get going."

Jenny nodded. "You two have a good rest of your summer. Have lots of fun before school starts."

Watching them leave, Giles observed, "for those two in particular, that was fitting advice."

She touched his arm. "Let's get out of here, find something to eat . . . Maybe at your place?"

He looked at her and blushed. "L-lovely plan."

She squeezed his arm before letting go and walking away. "Meet you there."

He swallowed thickly and turned back to the school. A few kids lingered in the hallways, but the closer he got to the library, the less he could hear them. He didn't bother to turn on the library's lights. He walked straight to his office and changed into his coat.

Pausing a moment, he listened for footsteps or whispering. Students avoided the library except on function days when they wanted to avoid their parents more. Not hearing a single creak, he turned off his office lamp, picked up his briefcase, and pulled out his key.

He locked his office door and then the libraries main double doors. Standing in the hallway, he tapped the outside of his briefcase. Alas, he couldn't feel the familiar bulge. His day planner must be sitting on his desk along with all his notes from yesterday's telephone conversation.

He unlocked library with a sigh and was just about to unlock his office when the double doors burst open. He turned around and faced the most unlikely cause: Daniel Ozborne.

"Buffy was in a hit and run. Xander and Jess are giving a statement to the police now."

"They saw it?"

Oz shrugged. "Miss Calendar is getting Angel and asked if you could pick up Mrs. Summers and bring her to the hospital. None of us know her shop's number."

"Of course." Giles jogged towards the front doors.

Oz jogged beside him. "I'm driving the rest over now. We'll see you there."

They parted ways at the parking lot.

On his way to his car, he saw the police car and the rest of the children. Willow met his gaze. He nodded and opened his car door. With tense, aching hands, he tossed his briefcase in the backseat and started the engine.

He didn't understand how this happened. Less than two hours ago, he was talking to her outside her house. She'd been unharmed and safe. This –whatever this was – it had to be a mistake.

He went as fast as his aged car allowed him and swerved to a stop in the first parking spot he found on Main St. He jogged down the sidewalk towards Mrs. Summer's shop.

His hand wrapped around the door handle, and dread filled his stomach. He pulled it open and forced himself forward. His eyes scanned the coffee counter.

Not finding her, he hurried past tables and into the gallery. Joyce Summers stood in the corner talking with an employee. He hesitated. The last time he saw her, he was about to drive her daughter into a crime scene. . . He remembered the distraught expressions of Xander and Jesse with the police. . . . If he hadn't interfered, Buffy would be home right now. She's be watching TV or studying for the Peace Officer test or simple catching up on sleep. She'd be safe.

With a final smile for her employee, Mrs. Summers strode towards her office. Noticing him, she slowed and stopped. For a moment, they stared at each other.

She didn't step towards him, so he took those heavy steps towards her.

Her lips remained tightly closed.

"Mrs. Summers, Buffy was in an accident. She's been taken to hospital."

She looks confused. "But you were driving . . ."

"I drove her to the graduation, yes. While walking through the parking lot, she was hit by a car."

Looking away from him, she nodded slowly. Her face and voice lost all expression. "Who hit her?"

"We don't know yet. They didn't stay. Will you let me drive you to the hospital?"

"That won't be necessary, but thank you for coming to tell me."

He tried to steady his breathing and gentle his voice. "It's understandable you're in shock. You shouldn't be driving in the state."

"I won't be." She looked back at her office. "I'll call the hospital for information. She'll probably call Angel for a ride. If they're not engaged again, they soon will be."

He shook his head. "I don't think you're grasping the severity of the situation."

"He stayed over the other night." She continued staring at her office door. "They never think I know . . ."

He lay a hand on her shoulder trying to steady her. "Mrs. Summers – Joyce, let's call the hospital, discover her status. If she's stable, if they say she's okay, I'll pick her up myself, but if she's –"

"I'm sorry, but I have a phone appointment in a few minutes." She glanced at him then at her watch. "I appreciate your concern, but Buffy will be fine. Buffy is always fine."

He frowned. "They may need you to make some decisions."

"She's 18." Hearing her office phone ring, she turned away. "I really must get this."

He watched her jog towards her office and pick up the phone with a smile. He couldn't make sense of her reaction. Was this denial or proof of psychopathy? He reminded himself the answer didn't matter. Right now, Buffy needed this woman, so somehow, someway, he would get her there.

Scanning the room for inspiration, he saw a gallery employee on the way to the coffee portion of the shop. He hurried over. "Miss? Miss?"

She looked at him blankly, "can I help you?"

"I'm a friend of the Summers' family. Joyce's daughter was just in an accident."

Her eyes widened.

"Yes, dreadful business. I'm driving Joyce to the hospital just as soon as she wraps up her call."

"Oh God."

"Is there someone who can lock up tonight and open tomorrow morning?"

"Yeah, I'll call the assistant manager. We'll take care of the schedule."

"Thank you dear."

She whispered, "How bad is it?"

"Joyce will likely be at the hospital all night."

The clerk glanced at her closed office door. "I'll put together a bag of food. She hasn't eaten anything all day as it is."

"That's a kind thought. Please do be quick though. We really must be on our way."

She nodded and hurried through the glass doors.

He hoped she shared the news with the rest of the employees and that customers overheard their gossiping. Joyce may not care what he thought of her, but she'd likely care what everyone else thought.

He leaned against the wall and stared at his office door. By pleading or shaming, he'd bring Buffy's mother to her. He just hoped he wasn't too late.

 **OoOoO**

As soon as she saw the blood-soaked pavement, Jenny knew Connor and Angel needed to go to her. She'd sped home not wasting a minute in getting them to the hospital.

She kept thinking _It's too much blood. No one could . . . It's too much . . . too much blood._

Angel and Connor couldn't lose another person without saying goodbye first. They needed to see her before . . . they needed to say goodbye.

Sitting in the waiting room with them, she accepted they might not get a chance. Buffy was in surgery and would be for the next few hours as doctors tried to salvage her insides.

Willow couldn't stop crying. Tears kept quietly leaking out.

Grim but calm, Oz held her hand. His silence was natural, expected. Xander's and Connor's wasn't. No failed humor attempts or outbursts. Both boys stared at the floor waiting for news, waiting to know what to feel.

Angel was surprisingly functional. Instead of pacing orbrooding, he stood next to Jesse talking quietly. She noticed Jesse passing him a business card. They leaned close, both boys frowning and nodding. More than anything else, they seemed angry.

She swallowed thickly. She didn't know how to deal with Angel's anger. She doubted he knew how either.

"How is she?"

Recognizing Rupert's voice, Jenny looked up and saw Joy summer standing next to him. "We don't know yet. She's been in surgery since we got here."

Rupert set down two large bags on the coffee table in front of them. "We brought food." He started setting out sandwiches, chips, and juice.

Oz reached for a juice, opened it, and handed it to Willow. She sipped slowly.

It was then Jenny realized all the kids still wore graduation gowns. Some were unzipped, some were bloody, but the gowns were matching reminders of how wrong this day had gone.

A nurse asked for Buffy Summers family, and handed a clipboard of paperwork to her. Rupert and Joyce chose the two seats farthest from the group. Jenny noticed Joyce's shifting eyes and Rupert's arm hogging the armrest. It was a subtle tell – Joyce didn't want to be here and Rupert didn't want her to leave. He looked ready to stop her if she tried.

Jenny understood his uncharacteristic assertiveness. Buffy was fighting for her life. Rupert couldn't fight with her, but he could make sure her mother was here if she won.

. . . And if she lost? . . .

Jenny's thoughts returned to Connor and Angel. Neither she nor the boys could process losing another loved one so suddenly, so senselessly. Buffy was their miracle, their godsend. Buffy Summers couldn't die.

They still needed her . . . they'd always need her . . .

 **OoOoO**

A doctor walked to the nurse's station. He was directed towards Mrs. Summers.

"You're Buffy Summers' mother?"

"Yes." Joyce stood slowly and stepped towards him and away from the group.

The doctor spoke in a low voice the others couldn't hear. They stared at Mrs. Summers trying to read her reaction. She rubbed her arms and shook her head. The doctor started leading her farther away from them. Finally, she glanced at the group. She said something to the doctor.

He paused and glanced at Angel. "Sir? Can you come this way?"

With a node, Angel strode towards them and kept pace behind them. Together, they walked down the hall and through the doors of the ICU.

A nurse intercepted the doctor. He pointed to a row of beds ahead of them.

Angel and Joyce continued without him.

Even damp and bloodied, Buffy's blonde hair was easy to recognize. The rest of her . . . wasn't.

Half of her face and head wrapped in bandages. Her arm was splinted; so was her leg.

All of her looked pale and swollen . . . just like his dream.

Standing over her, Angel listened to her machine's whirring and beeping remind him she was still alive.

One of the nurses brought Joyce a chair. She sat down without taking her eyes off her daughter. "They're letting her rest a few hours before the next surgery."

Angel sat at the foot of Buffy's bed. He ached to touch her hand, but dreaded hurting her. He settled for laying his hand near hers.

Joyce leaned forward and stroked her unbroken arm. They sat quietly for many minutes. Eventually, Joyce started to hum. She voice sounded so soft, he wondered if she was singing to Buffy or herself.

Even as a whisper, he recognized the hymn. Born and raised Irish Catholic, he even knew the words. In his mind, he heard his own mother singing them:

 _Be thou my vision, oh Lord of my heart;_

 _Naught be all else to me, save that thou art;_

 _Thou my best thought, by day or by night._

 _Waking or sleeping, but I preserve my light_

Joyce's voice broke on the same high notes his mother's had. Again and again, her voice rose, broke and fell in familiar waves: _Thou and Thou only, first in my heart . . . .my soul's shelter . . . my high Tower_

 _-Raise me heavenward-_

His memories tripped and lingered on every word of the final verse:

 _High King of Heaven, my victory won_

 _May I reach Heaven's joys, O bright Heaven's Sun_

 _Heart of my own heart, whatever befall_

 _Still be my Vision, O Ruler of all_

Gazing at Buffy's sleeping face, he imagined her mother singing to a baby Buffy. She'd have been small and pink just like his baby brother and sister. She'd have had her whole life ahead of her.

A different nurse brought a chair for him too. Reluctantly, he accepted it. Sliding off her bed, he felt the space between them grow. Those few inches felt like miles.

His eyes couldn't look at her mother. His mouth couldn't open. His mind couldn't understand. Later, he'd ask questions. If he had to, later, he'd fight for truth.

But now . . . how he couldn't think or talk. Now, he focused on experiencing – on seeing and memorizing . . . these might be the last minutes he shared with her.

All too soon, nurses came and rolled her away. Now was the time for more surgery, more waiting, more hoping for more . . .

Angel and Joyce slowly returned to the waiting room. Everyone still sat there. They hadn't even moved. Everyone looked up at they entered, but he only met Connor's eyes. They stared at each other as Joyce shared with the group: "Thank you for finding and bringing her here. Thank you for staying. The doctors are taking her back into surgery." She swallowed and cleared her throat. "If she does well in surgery, if she . . . she might not—they're worried about . . . it's just too . . ."

Giles gently prompted, "Joyce?"

She looked at him. She didn't look away. She cleared her throat again. "They don't think she's going to wake up."

Xander argued, "but she has to."

She blinked but couldn't take her eyes off Giles calm expression. "Even if someone had ben there right when it happened, it wouldn't have made a difference. They said the impact was too much. It . . ."

Giles, who'd stood when she started speaking, slowly sat. "Here, come sit."

The others remained quiet as she crossed the room.

When she sat beside him, he spoke in the same measure voice. "Did he say how long the second surgery should take?"

She shook her head. "I didn't ask."

"That's all right. I'll go find out and bring you back some coffee."

Her head turned to him, but her gaze stayed on the floor. She whispered, "She needs me here."

He lay his hand over hers. "Yes, she does." After a moment of silence and stillness, he stood and walked to the nurses' station.

Everyone else remained frozen. Their minds struggled with her words, with the situation.

Like the others, Connor couldn't believe he wouldn't see Buffy's smile again, hear her laugh with his brother. He couldn't believe their worst fears for her had actually come true.

But the longer he stared at Angel's expression, the harder it was not to believe it.

She wasn't going to be okay.

She wasn't coming back from this.

Willow murmured to the room, "is this really happening?"

With his arm wrapped around her, Oz rubbed her arm. She lay her head on his shoulder. Her tears had finally stopped. Xander's were just beginning.

Jesse stepped away from the group. He didn't say where he was going and no one asked.

Watching Angel lower himself to the coffee table, Jenny began a mental list: she needed to call his old psychiatrist, Dr. Holtz, right away. She needed to take the lock off Angel's bedroom door and remove the booze from her kitchen and the pills from her bathroom.

Losing Buffy might permanently break both her boys, but Jenny wouldn't let it destroy them. She would do everything in her power to ensure they survived this tragedy too.

Connor held his head in his hands and started sobbing. She briefly wondered how Buffy's sister would handle the news, but Jenny couldn't worry about another child now. Dawn had doctors looking after her. That would have to be enough.

Joyce drew everyone's attention again when she puked on the floor. No one said anything. A nurse paged a janitor to clean it up. They all watched him clean the floor.

When he finished, the floor looked clean and perfect –just like it had before.

Laminate floors could be cleaned; so could pavement. But everything else, everything that mattered, would remain messy and unsightly.

Buffy's friends and teachers and mother – they watched the floor, the table, the clock, each other. They watched and waited and wished. They wished this day hadn't happened and wished it wouldn't end.

No one could imagine facing the first day of the rest of their lives without her.


	18. Chapter 18

"It wasn't an accident." Angel sat before Detective Wood's desk as he had every month since Buffy's graduation.

"Mr. Angelus, it's clear you have a personal interest here, but there isn't evidence to support your theory."

"You mean there's only _circumstantial_ evidence. You can't say Buffy being run over at _that_ time in _that_ place: a public event most people assumed she'd attend, just one day before Hank's release isn't suspicious."

"But like you said, her graduation happened before his release, so Hank Summers has a lock-solid alibi."

"And the threats? He had someone leaving boxes of dead animals at her house. He has connections, reach."

"Those unmarked packages and unsigned cards could have been from someone else." He tilted his head." They could have been from you."

"What?"

"I asked Mrs. Summers if she could think of anyone who might want to hurt her daughter." He opened his bottom desk drawer and pulled out a paper packet. "She gave me this." Woods spun the packet towards him.

Angel read the heading: _**Temporary Restraining Order**_. Below that, he saw his name in her bubbly handwriting.

"Buffy took a road trip that week. Her mother found this unpacking her bag. She hadn't finished filling it out."

"She wasn't going to. This-" He shook his head. "It's just a really bad idea she had."

"So you knew about this, you knew she wanted you to stay away from her."

"She wanted me to stay away from her dad. She knew he wanted back in that house, back in their lives."

"You weren't her fiancé anymore."

"It didn't matter."

Wood smirked. "That's _exactly_ what her mother said. Buffy ended your engagement months ago, but two nights before graduation, you left a club with her, spent the night with her." Wood slipped the TRO back inside the file. "But it's the next night that intrigues me. Witnesses place you drinking at an exotic dance joint and having a heated phone conversation."

"Who-"

"The friend she stayed with, Lindsay McDonald, overheard her half of the argument. Early that morning, Buffy called to tell you to stay away from her and her family or she'd file a restraining order." He tapped the folder. "She meant it."

"Did he also overhear her saying she wanted to marry me? That phone call ended with us making plans to see each other when she got back."

"Yes, by all accounts she was loyal to you." He opened the file again. "And after talking with her doctor I believe it."

Angel frowned.

"You see, after you called me with your theory of the crime, I went looking for substantiating evidence. I asked her doctor if there were other injuries, ones that couldn't be explained by the car." He flipped through several pages before pulling out two pages of notes. "Turns out Miss Summers had a hip pointer; pattern suggests she sustained it days before graduation day."

"That week, she tripped, fell."

"Given the severity, it's more likely she was pushed."

Angel's eyes widened. "I would _never_ hurt her."

"Her mother disagrees."

"She's lying."

"So you're saying Buffy sustained no serious injuries between her father's incarceration and her graduation - besides her 'fall.'"

Angel swallowed. The night before her 18th birthday, they showered together. He noticed more than one cut, more than one bruise. "She got hurt, sometimes, fighting – sparring. She worked at The Initiative, it's a martial arts place. It's – it wasn't—she wasn't. . ."

Skimming his notes, Woods raised his brows. "Broken toes, cracked knuckles, bruised ribs, deep cuts, an irregular burn . . ."

Angel spoke slowly, "I don't know anything about that."

Wood folded his hands over the file. "Liam, I've done martial arts: taekwondo, jiu-jitsu, escrima –never gotten burned before. In fact, I've never got more than a bruise, maybe a sprained ankle."

"Buffy wasn't careful; she didn't want to be."

He shook his head. "These injuries aren't from sparring; they're from abuse, verging on torture, and they all happened _after_ big bad dad was locked away."

"Talk to Spike –talk to Adam, her boss. They knew that part of her life; I didn't. I-I _should_ have but-."

"Your credibility is undermined by the fact she started a restraining order against _**you**_."

"To _protect_ me." He scowled. "She wasn't worried for herself."

"We can agree on that. After all, the hospital cut off the ring you gave her, an engagement ring, right?"

Angel nodded.

"Post-split, she was still wearing your ring, meeting up with you when she thought no one would know. . . I can imagine your surprise when she told you to stay away threatening to get the police involved."

Angel remained very still. He held his breath as Wood continued.

"Your theory of the crime is that Buffy's father arranged for her to be harmed, even killed, at her graduation."

"Yes."

"He had several possible motives and did assume she'd be at the school that day, _but_ how would an assassin know she'd be in _that_ parking lot, at that _exact_ time, _alone_?"

Angel admitted, "I don't know."

Wood leaned back in his chair. "To guarantee she'd be there, someone would've have had to lure or threaten her, but Buffy was a brave girl more likely to fight or scream than let a stranger force her anywhere."

Angel argued, "They could've threatened other students."

"Or maybe they weren't a stranger at all." Would shrugged. "If she knew them, trusted them, then they wouldn't need to threaten anyone – wouldn't even need to enter the crowd of witnesses. They could wave from a distance and she'd come to them.

Angel leaned back mirroring Wood's posture. "You think I lured Buffy away from her graduation and ran her over."

"You didn't want her finishing that restraining order and she wanted to avoid a scene. Maybe she led you to the parking lot, away from the crowd. You followed, begged her to reconsider, promised you'd change, but her mind was made up."

Angel shook his head.

"She told you it was over –for good this time, told you to accept it and let her go, so you got in your car and watched her walk away. Thinking about everything you've been through together, you couldn't let it end that way. Maybe you wanted to punish her or simply stop her from leaving, so you slammed the gas pedal and ran her down." Wood leaned forward. "You drove away without looking back, without calling an ambulance." He frowned. "Did you think you'd killed her? Did you want her to die?

Angel took a deep breath. "So you agree this was intentional and you suspect _ **I**_ intended it."

"But you couldn't have, right? You were home at the time with your brother 'asleep' across the hall."

"And I didn't have a car that day."

"Right, your aunt borrowed yours while hers was getting service." He nodded. "And sure you could have borrowed a friend's car –maybe Doyle's, the guy you were drinking with the night before, or stolen one, but there's no proof of any of that." He picked up the file and waved it. "And save for a 15 minute phone call at 1 AM, phone records don't tie you to her." He returned the file to his drawer and slammed it shut. He sighed, "In the absence of proof, the simplest explanation is the official one: Buffy Summers was hit by someone distracted by the eclipse and the chaos on campus. It was a crime for the driver to leave the scene of an accident, but until someone comes forward or she comes out of coma, we'll never know the driver's identity." He smiled tightly. "So unless you'd like to make a confession, you're free to go and not come back."

Angel stood, turned and felt Wood's eyes follow him out of the room.

If he could, Detective Wood would've followed him out of the station, had his surveilled, but like he told that arrogant sociopath, suspicions didn't justify shit.

Liam Angelus was going to get away with taking another life –all because too many people couldn't fathom multiple monsters, but Wood could.

He'd grown up with them.

Thanks to his mother, he knew defeating one just made room for another to take its place. His mother had been one of the strongest people he'd ever known, but the constant battles wore her down; eventually, one of them got the best of her.

Now a younger monster had gotten the best of Sunnydale PDs' golden recruit.

He'd heard rumors of Buffy Summers months before her graduation. If he wasn't a detective, he'd have lobbied to be assigned as her field training officer. A kid with her physical abilities and life experience could've been anything: detective, SWAT, FBI even. But because of Liam Angelus, all her potential was wasting away, atrophying in some forgotten, long-term care facility.

He wished the bastard would stop coming by and reminding him how fucked up life is, but he knew better, bastards like 'Angel' never stopped –not unless someone stopped them . . .

 **OoOoO**

Dawn trudged to the door and looked through the peep hole.

She opened the door with a sigh, "hey Connor."

"Thought we could hang while Giles and Aunt Jen are catching up." He smiled. "I got Terminator 1 and 2 and lots of popcorn."

She stepped back to let him in.

"Does Giles even have a VCR?"

"Looks new." She followed him into the living room. "I think he got it for me."

"His reputation as a stuffy ol' Brit may never recover."

She crossed her arms. "I don't need a babysitter."

"I'll go if you want." He tossed the movies onto the couch and shrugged. "No one even knows I'm here. I just haven't seen you in a while."

She plopped onto the couch. "Whatever."

He grinned and crouched to put in the movie. "So what's it like living with the librarian?"

"Neat. Quiet. Except when starts playing his records. He pulls out his acoustic guitar and plays along."

"No joke?" He laughed. "That is priceless." He turned on the TV and sprawled on the other side of the couch.

When the movie started, Dawn almost smiled at the familiar, cheesy credits, but her mouth was too lazy to comply.

The first movie sped by. They only paused once to make popcorn. Preferring to focus on the movie, they kept comments to a minimum.

When Connor slid to the floor to put the second movie in, he felt Dawn staring at his back. "What?" He frowned and smiled at the same time.

Finally, her mouth obeyed her mind. "Thanks for coming to Golden Hills to let me know about Buffy . . . No one else . . ."

Sighing, Connor returned to the couch, "I didn't want to tell you over the phone. Angel would have come too, but . . ."

She nodded and stared at the TV. "I kinda owe you forever."

Not knowing what to say, he leaned back and pressed the remote's play button.

The sequel started with a petite female escaping a mental ward.

Connor frowned. "Is it true your roommate tried to kill you?"

Dawn replied flatly, "she wasn't my roommate."

Connor glanced at her scarred arms.

Dawn rubbed one of the larger scars effectively hiding it from view. "She didn't want to kill me; she just wanted to get better. She thought my blood could cure her. She said it glowed."

"What was wrong with her?"

She paused. "Does it matter?"

He looked at her profile: the hair she'd cut herself, the shadow under her eye, her lack of expression. She was right: the diagnosis of her attacker didn't change the results of the attack.

He turned back to the TV hoping for normal.

He didn't need Dawn to be normal. She could be whatever she was for however long and he'd love her. He just needed their lives to be normal: for starters, no more murder attempts; no new scars that'd never fully fade. It was only the third week of school and he already hated his senior year. A lot of familiar faces weren't there anymore and the ones still there just wanted to gossip about Dawn and Mr. Giles. Every day, she ate lunch in his office away from the other kids. Mr. Giles didn't eat with her, but letting her be there made it known that something was different.

After the first week of school, everyone knew that 'Suicidal Summers' had Giles for a guardian. No one teased her about it; no one even asked her about it–or anything else really. No one wanted to be blamed if she tried to kill herself again. Kids left her alone the same way they used to leave Angel alone.

Of course, that didn't keep them from speculating amongst themselves. Connor was sick of people treating his family like entertainment. And Dawn was definitely family –just like Buffy was. His chest spasmed.

It always did when he thought of her.

Onscreen, Sarah Connors kicked ass reminding him so much of Buffy it hurt to watch. He didn't risk looking at Dawn. Maybe she saw what he did; maybe she didn't, but right now, he couldn't blink his tears away. They coated his eyes blurring their cause. He usually avoided thoughts of Buffy, but watching this movie next to her sister, he felt Buffy filling his eyes, ears and chest.

Dawn murmured, "she kinda looks like Buffy. You know, except for the bangs."

He cleared his throat. "Yeah, except for the bangs."

They sunk further into the couch watching fictional characters fight fictional threats. For an hour, they wished their own despair could be so easily paused and rewound, turned off and forgotten, but life wasn't a movie. It was inescapable.

 **OoOoO**

Angel didn't take his eyes off the room. "Since school is back in session, shouldn't you have work?"

Doyle leaned against the wall beside him. "It's called the night off. Remember those?" He returned the smile of a passing stripper. "Of course if I worked here, I might never leave."

"And you wouldn't take a single cent home. Surprised you have any left after the summer."

"Your new employ and Molly's exit have been an expensive combination."

Angel didn't comment. Doyle knew his role in his situation; he'd admitted it readily enough. The night before Buffy's accident, Doyle had actually been trying to cheer himself up. His first serious girlfriend dumped him and instead of brooding about it, Doyle had wanted strong drinks and smiling women. If Doyle hadn't dragged him here that night, Angel wouldn't be here now.

Watching the doors and the patrons, Angel felt a hand at his back. It stroked his spine and ass and left behind a trail of gold. His eyes didn't follow that trail, but Doyle's did.

"Lucky bastard. Dunno how I stomach bein' your mate."

"Me either."

Doyle watched him subtly glance at the small note before putting it back into his pocket. "Another dove-delivered love note. Poor birds can't get 'nough of ya."

Angel didn't look at him. "We have an understanding."

Doyle shrugged. "You plannin' on eatin' after or passing out?"

He smothered a yawn. "I could eat."

Doyle nodded. "So, we'll just hang for a bit, yeah?" He stepped away making eye contact with another man.

Angel frowned. "You brought someone?"

"Charles didn't believe I knew any of the ladies here."

"You don't."

"Well, I know you and you know em' all, biblically speaking. Good 'nough."

Angel rolled his eyes while Doyle winked at the waitress.

"Besides, Lilly is warming up to me just fine."

Angel watched his ridiculous friend strut to his friend's table. For the rest of the night, Doyle and Charles flirted and ogled and gave away all the money they'd come with, but Angel knew they hadn't come with much. To keep themselves from losing more than they could spare, most men left their credit cards and excess cash at home.

With the club winding down and his dollars spent, Doyle's friend left with a smile. Doyle lingered by the bar chatting up Lilly.

On his way out, Angel nodded to him. Once outside, he muttered, "impress your friend?"

"Nah," Doyle laughed, "but I may have brought the ladies and other regular."

They walked down the road to the 24 hour diner. It wasn't empty, rarely was. Angel recognized some customers from Willie's.

Angel and Doyle chose a booth near the back. A waitress brought them coffee and took their orders.

When she walked out of hearing range, Doyle spoke, "haven't seen you on campus. Wonderin' if ya decided to take the semester off."

Angel barely looked at him. "Still going."

"Good. That's good mate. Let her nurses and doctors earn their wages."

He sipped his coffee. "I haven't stopped going to see her." Angel set down his cup. "I'm not going to."

"You can't keep this up." He smiled sympathetically. You realize you spend more time wit her now than you did when she was conscious."

"Probably." He picked his mug back up.

"That's not healthy boyo."

He shrugged. "That's not changing."

"When was the last time you saw your aunt or your brother?"

"They know where to find me."

Doyle stared at him. "She wouldn't want this."

Angel scoffed, "you only met her once."

Doyle sat back. "If it were you lyin' there, would you want her wastin' beside ya – barely sleeping or seein' her famly, her sister?"

"If they were trying to scrap me for parts, yeah, I hope she'd stand guard –whether we were together or not."

"Doubt anyones still bangin' that drum." Doyle tilted his head. "Not much usable left I imagine."

Angel exhaled through his nose. "She's not dead."

The waitress returned with their greasy breakfast. Doyle and Angel contained their glares until after she set down their plates and walked away.

Doyle lowered his voice. "I know you love the girl. At this point, everyone knows you love her, but loving ain't same as saving and everything you've read, everyone you've called agrees: Buffy can't be saved –not this time."

Angel stared at his plate. "You're right: I need sleep more than food right now." He nodded at the waitress and gestured for a box mouthing ' _check._ ' He gulped the rest of his coffee and pulled out his wallet. A crumpled scrap drifted to the table.

Doyle reached for it. "This is not trash. This is possibility mate. This is-"

"not what you think it is."

Doyle flattened the note revealing delicate calligraphy. He read aloud " _Bad Night 15._ " He frowned. "Darla slipped you this?"

"It's from Spike." Angel sighed, "Darla was just the messenger."

"William the Bloody has quite the girlish handwriting."

Angel muttered, "not usually. It's so Drusilla can't copy it."

"What's it mean anyway? 'Bad night' – he wasn't even working tonight."

"He didn't. Dru must've called him to pick her up."

Doyle held up the scrap "why the note?"

Angel wiped his tired face with both hands. "Dru can't leave alone. If she's gone and I don't have a message from Spike, then I call him or leave early to find her myself."

"His girl findin' trouble ain't your business. Unless, you two aren't . . . are you?"

"I care because he does, because I owe him."

Doyle sat back and stared at the note. "Still don't get the '15' part."

Angel nodded as the waitress set down a box and the check. "He picks random numbers, so if she finds an old note, she can't reuse it." Angel lay down cash and scraped his plate into the carton. "We can't have phones on the job and he doesn't trust the other dancers."

"But he trusts you."

"Yeah." He put his wallet away and closed the carton.

"You really gonna walk out on me?"

"I haven't seen you outside Willie's in four months. I'm too tired to explain what my life is." Angel stood. "Spike is an ass, but he's an ass that helps."

Watching him stride away, Doyle called out, "Helps with what? Angel, helps how?!"


	19. Chapter 19

Spike dropped his bag inside the doorway. "Sleeping on the job are we?"

Angel startled awake and blinked at his open textbook. "I just meant to close my eyes for a minute."

Spike shrugged one shoulder. "You haven't slept the day away. Not yet at least."

Angel looked at his watch confirming he'd slept less than 40 minutes. "Didn't expect to see you this early or at all." Through a yawn, he asked. "How's Dru?"

"Jhiera was coming off something last night. Dru couldn't take it. But she said she felt fine enough for her shrink group's trip to the zoo today. Sneaky excuse for a date if you ask me." He sat on the edge of Buffy's bed. "When this one wakes, no hetero-male specialists or physical therapists. You don't want her rediscovering the joy of consciousness with some wanker."

Angel stretched his neck waiting for the pop. "Noted."

Spike leaned forward and picked a sprinkle out of her short hair. "Not yours I presume."

"One of the nurses. I brought in donuts again."

Flicking away the sprinkle, Spike tilted his head and searched for other crumbs. "Treats are meant to butter them up not lessen quality of care."

"It's fine." Angel yawned again. "Crumbs I can handle."

"Use this today." Spike reached into his bag and pulled out a tin jar. "It's supposed to increase circulation."

He skimmed the label. "That's what you said about the oil I'm already using."

"This stuff is stronger, more like a salve."

Angel rotated the tin. "Help me wash her hair today?"

Nodding, Spike stood. "No telling what other sugars hiding in there. How long she'd been on that side anyway?"

Angel stood too. "Two hours. I turned her this morning."

They rolled her to her back and lifted her so she was sitting up. Holding her in the position, they carefully removed her nightgown. Their slow movements didn't single wire or cord. Underneath, she wore the softest tube top and loose shorts money could buy.

Spike stepped back. "I'll call the nurse to remove the cath."

"Sorry, I should have done that before."

He gave a smile. "It's Saturday. Give yourself a break. I got nowhere else to be."

Angel nodded gratefully and sat beside Buffy leaning her against him. Her head lulled to his shoulder. He turned his face into her hair and closed his eyes. Breathing her in, he whispered "It's okay. We'll get you cleaned up and everything is going to be okay."

A rosy cheeks nurse shuffled in. "You boys are so sweet giving her the TLC like you do. Not that we don't give special care to all our patients, but it's nice when visitors make themselves useful. Just sitting and staring never helped anyone."

Angel and Spike simply smiled and let her help them get Buffy ready to be washed.

The nurse squeezed both men's shoulders. "I'll leave you to it. After all this time, you know what to do. Find me if you need something."

Both men took their usual positions. Angel began wiping her body while, Spike poured cups of water over her hair.

More often than not, Angel did all this alone, but he always appreciated the help: someone else who scrutinized as much as he did –who'd notice the slightest scratch or bruise a lock of hair too short.

And he had to admit, William the Bloody had the gentlest touch Angel had ever seen. Angel was more likely to accidentally bruise her than Spike was. That knowledge made it hard to voice the question on his mind. "Spike?"

"Hmmm."

"How'd she get this cut?" He dabbed her arm with the damp towel. "She had it before."

Spike leaned up and over. "Broadsword. We nicked each other good that day."

Angel nodded absently. "And this burn?" He moved the towel lower on her arm.

Spike smirked. "Lil' bit did that. After we torched their dad's shit, she accidentally bumped Buffy with the hot tip."

"Tip of what?"

"Flamethrower."

Angel struggled to keep his expression neutral.

"What's stalling your mind motor?"

He lifted her arm and dabbed along her side. "I visited the detective yesterday. He noted she has a lot of marks that can't be explained by sparring."

"What of it?"

"Do you think . . . is it possible she walked in front of that car?"

Spike stopped massaging her hair. "He thinks she did this to yourself?"

"Actually, he thinks I did it."

Spike laughed. "You've been sleep deprived for four months. What's his excuse?"

Angel stared at her relaxed face.

He lifted a cup and began rinsing her hair. "It was never about the pain for her. I remember meeting her with her face pressed against the glass watching Adam demonstrate throws." He smirked at the memory. "Seeing that light in her eyes, I knew she belonged there –even if she was total shite." Spike continued in a lower voice, "Buffy found something that inspired and excited her and she engaged with it every day –even found a way to get paid for it. Joining the force would've combined her passion for physical strategy and justice. She was gonna show them how it's done." He squeezed a few drops of conditioner over her hair and started running his fingers to the ends.

Angel returned to the cloth and the skin he was supposed to be cleaning. He felt Spike's gaze on him.

"She was nowhere close to giving up."

Angel nodded and continued cleaning her frail-but-still-fighting body.

Together, they repositioned her so Angel could washer other side.

After Spike finished washing her hair, he towel dried it as best he could. Then they carried her to the bed took their positions at either side of her.

Angel opened the tin and set it between them. They each took pinch of the salve and began massaging it into her skin with their thumbs. It was slow, tedious work stimulating every patch of skin. With methodical strokes, Angel and Spike were trying to save it from rashes and blisters. In turns, they bent her limbs to loosen her joints.

Unlike normal massage, this wasn't about her muscles –those would atrophy no matter what they did.

If she woke, she'd need this body. There was so little they could do to preserve it that any contribution they heard of became sacred mandate.

Angel washed and massaged her skin every day. He repositioned her body every few hours to prevent bedsores. He looked after her teeth and nails and he bought the staff –techs and janitors included—pastries and coffee at least once a week.

He wouldn't be doing any of this if Spike hadn't advised him to. From his experience helping Drusilla, Spike knew how bad off the medical establishment could leave the body. Spike's motto of "trust no one" quickly became his own.

By the time they finished covering her skin, they'd used a third of the tin's salve. Angel replaced the lit. He'd already changed her sheets, so he returned her dress to her and pulled the sheet over her lap.

Hearing Spike wash his hands, Angel spoke across the room, "you never ask when I'll be here, if I'll be here."

"Stupid questions."

"Just, if you're wondering, until she dies her wakes up, I'll be here."

"Of course you will."

Angel sat back down. "Everyone else expects me to give up."

Spike picked up his jacket. "Then they've never been saved by someone."

He frowned at him.

Spike leaned against the wall explaining, "Dru met me at my weakest accepting all that I was and all that I could be. With her, I became stronger than I thought possible." He glanced at Buffy. "How do you repay a debt like that?"

While Angel's frown faded, Spike shrugged on his jacket. "I don't think we can." He looked back at Buffy and tilted his head. "We shouldn't leave her on her back. She was like that overnight wasn't she?"

"I'll move her in a minute."

"Right then." Spike stood straight. "See ya 'round peaches."

Angel didn't watch him leave. He reached for his physics textbook and opened it page of chapter questions. One glance told him he wouldn't make progress right now. The words and symbols jumbled in his mind. He continued to stare at the mystery questions as the nurse returned and re-hooked Buffy up.

As usual, Spike tracked down the nurse before taking off.

"There you go dear right as rain and fresh as a daisy."

Sighing, Angel closed his book just as she was finishing up.

"Thanks Carol."

She left with a parting smile.

He returned his book to his bag and stood. After a stretch, he went about rolling Buffy onto her side.

Then be brushed the short strands of damp hair from her face.

He wanted to crawl into the bed with her and just hold her for a while, but his belt was too hard and his pants too abrasive. Since he couldn't strip to his boxers here, he kissed her hair and pulled back.

He settled for setting up two chairs beside her and laying his head against her bed. He imagined she watched him or at least knew he was there. That thought helped him fall asleep.

 **OoOoO**

He woke with a crick in his neck and an uncomfortable numbness in his leg; still, he didn't want to move.

In his mind, he started prioritizing his assignments. He wasn't alert enough for physics, but he could make headway on other assigned reading. He could even make the outline for his upcoming paper. He had a quiz on Monday, but it wasn't a big portion of his grade. He could hold off studying for it until the day of.

Remembering he'd left his paper research at home, he frowned. That meant he'd have to leave her earlied than planned. He blinked and shifted and lifted his head.

He reminded himself that tomorrow was Sunday. He could spend all tomorrow here tackling physicals and trimming her hair. Buffy used to trim her own hair regularly ridding herself of "split ends." Aunt Jenny explaining the concept hadn't helped him understand it, but if Buffy hated them, then he'd hunt for frayed end and cut them out.

Aunt Jenny worried he was obsessed. Angel didn't doubt he was obsessed; but he'd been obsessed with Buffy since the morning he met her; he'd quit worrying about it years ago.

He returned the two chairs to their rightful places and grabbed his bag off the floor. He stood over her and asked himself if there was anything more he could do for her, any reason to stay a few minutes more.

He hated leaving her here alone, but he couldn't live here with her; he'd asked more than once and answer was always the same, _"You need to go home honey. We take good care of her. Go on and take good care of yourself."_

He crouched beside her bed so they were eye level. Resting his hand over hers, he murmured, "take all the time you need. I'm not going anywhere." He smirked. "That being said, I've gotta get a book and some dinner before work." His thumb caressed her knuckles. "I'll be back tomorrow."

He stood and slowly drew back his hand.

He took a deep breath before turning away from her.

Reaching the parking lot, he felt hollow, so when he got in his car, he pulled out his phone. _To listen to your messages press 1 . . . You have 2 saved voice messages. To listen to –first saved voice message:_ "Angel, I know I said stay away, but I take it back. I don't want you to get sick, but we'd be really careful. I won't kiss you or even breathe on you. I'll take a Lysol shower. I just [cough] can't not see you. Please [cough] come over. Pl—Angel!? I – you –I." the message ended, but the memory continued playing in his mind. He saw her in her cow pajamas, sweaty and rumpled and teary-eyed. He'd expected having to beg her to let him stay, so her overwhelming joy had surprised him. Forgetting caution, she'd hugged him and kissed him and kept him beside her for two whole days.

 _To save this message press 4. To delete this message press 7. To replay this message –_

He hung up. He didn't need to hear it again and he didn't need to hear the other.

He tucked the phone into his pocket and started the engine. Buffy had been strong for so many people, him included; now, she needed his strength. She needed him and he wouldn't fail her. He couldn't.

 **OoOoO**

"Do I still smell like pizza?"

Xander sighed, "Pretty sure we both do."

"Maybe it'll make girls hungry." Jesse shrugged. "I don't mind smelling delicious."

"That's good because the smells aren't coming out -ever."

They turned the corner to the Bronze.

Jesse did a double take at the doorman.

"Hey, Angel, is that you man?"

Angel barely nodded a greeting.

"Did you have a growth spurt?" Xander squinted at the shadow surrounding the big bouncer. "Only been a couple months, but you look taller and wider…"

Jesse cut off Xander's rambling. "Year-long road trip plans got cut short. Too pricey for us."

Angel didn't reply.

Xander slapped his shoulder. "Well, good talk. See around."

Jesse followed him in. "Dude seriously found his calling."

"Yeah, Angel was destined to scare the shit out of people and we're destined to deliver food that makes people shit."

"Crude but true" Jesse leaned in, "so how's about we not try impressing the ladies with our shrinking fortunes. Let them fall for our rugged looks and worldly ways instead."

Xander laughed. "Whatever man as long as Willow doesn't catch us here."

"Not our fault college chicks can't appreciate self-made men."

"And high school chicks can't tell the difference."

Jesse slapped Xander's back. "Okay, divide and conquer sir."

Xander watched his friend disappear behind dancing teenagers. Xander was technically a teenager too, but he didn't feel like it. He was one missed rent check from being homeless and one confrontation away from being friendless.

He hadn't talked to Willow since the accident, and with Jesse so wrecked, he wasn't eager for reunion.

Jesse had been everyone's rock that day: getting Buffy help, talking to the cops, explaining it all to Willow and Jenny, but when it was clear Buffy wasn't okay, he just cracked. Jesse ditched his summer plans and joined Xander's roadtrip.

They ran out of money early on because Jesse kept buying drinks for himself and any girl who'd accept them. Jesse hadn't wanted to come back, but they ran out of options.

In the past few days, they'd gotten jobs and new reasons to hate this town.

Xander slouched on to a low couch and try to focus on the band. A former classmate smiled at him. He recognized her as his prom date, _Hannah or Anna?_ He smiled and nodded but felt oddly disappointed. She wasn't the classmate he'd been missing. She was just familiar.

 **OoOoO**

Angel watch the parking lot and the patrons. This wasn't a bad gig; it paid better than the college, but he still preferred Willie's club.

There was less chance of seeing former or current classmates there. Sure, there were exceptions, but usually, the strip club let him be anonymous.

Here, though, he was anything but. He felt kids stare and whisper. Sensing someone step beside him, he tensed.

"Did you ever talk to the cops?" Jesse whispered. "Tell them you think her dad did it?"

"They said there wasn't enough evidence." He crossed his arms. "They were right."

"So that's it?!" Realizing he was screeching, Jesse lowered his voice. "He just gets away with it?"

Angel didn't reply.

Frowning, Jess leaned against the building. "We passed her house. Window was broken, boarded . . . He's living there isn't he?" Jesse didn't expect or need confirmation. "Sucks for her sister. Can't blame the kid for wanting a quick exit."

They both stared ahead.

Angel flexed his crossed arms. "She's not in the house."

"What?"

Angel felt Jesse's eyes on him. "She's not there. Joyce got her out before . . ."

Jesse sighed, "Good, that's something. But their mom is . . .?"

"Still there."

"Did they, have they . . ." He cleared his throat. "Did her mom pull the plug?"

"No plug to pull. Heart and lungs work fine." Angel shifted subtly. "No one has pulled the feeding tube so she hasn't starved to death."

"So, then, she's just gonna lie there forever."

"Insurance doesn't cover forever, but yeah, she's still around."

"H-how does she look? Does she look like her?" Jesse turned his head to the wall. "Do you know?"

It was the last question that pissed him off, the assumption that Angel hadn't seen her, that she didn't deserve to be seen.

Misinterpreting his silence, Jesse straightened. "Sorry man, I shouldn't have asked." He scratched his stubble. "I don't know how to be here. Buffy dating you was supposed to be the most dramatic thing that happened to us. Now everything is just broken, you know?" Jesse lowered his voice again. "Can we meet?" He replied to Angel's frown. "In a not-public place. I gotta talk to you."

"About?"

"About not-public place things."

"Not interested in that conversation or this one."

"If you're planning something and I want in."

Angel sucked in his cheeks and bit down. Hurting himself kept him from hurting Jesse. "My plan is legal. Anyone can help with it and no one will – including you."

Jesse puffed up his chest. "Tell me."

"I'm saving money to get her out of there. I'm gonna bring her home and care for her myself."

"But that's—you can't. No one—She needs doctors and machines. She needs a hospital! You can't just –"

Angel smirked. "Jess, go back inside. Buffy and her family are none of your concern."

Jesse sputtered. "Someone needs to stop him."

"Why?"

"Her mom –"

"chooses to stay with him. Dawn and Buffy are out, so their mom can do whatever she wants."

"But if she knew what he did, if he confessed –"

"Nothing would change." He started laughing and looked at him. "I would give him every cent I have and let him beat me bloody if it meant Buffy would wake."

Jesse's eyes widened. "The girl you and I knew died four months ago. Stop living in your head for one moment and _deal_ with the fact we've a sociopath living in our town."

Angel glare or scowl, but he did stop laughing. "You don't care about Hank or this town. You wanna stop feeling guilty for bringing her to graduation. I can't help you with that."

His voice shook. "I'm not the reason she's gone."

"No, you're not the _only_ reason."

Jesse opened and closed his mouth again and again. His mind couldn't form thoughts; his mouth couldn't form words. Pain claimed all of him.

Angel waited for Jesse to meet his black gaze. When he did, Jesse paled and stumbled backwards.

Angel watched him continue towards the street.

Jesse's night was over, but Angel's was just beginning.

He manned the door, took cover fees, and kept the peace.

A couple hours after Jesse left, Xander walked out holding a girl's hand. Xander passed him without acknowledging him.

Unlike his friend, Xander wasn't burdened by guilt.

Angle doubted they'd ever speak again.

In the early hours of the morning, Angel went inside the Bronze to check closets. He turned off the lights and locked all the doors.

He returned to his car and the half-finished coffee he'd left there. He gulped down the cold fuel before starting his car.

Driving towards home, he felt relaxed and light. No classes or meetings lay between him and her – not today. After a nap, he'd be back in her presence.

Turning onto Main Street, he noticed the "For Lease" sign in the gallery window. The coffee shop had new ownership, but the gallery space was still vacant. Mrs. Summers was retreating as fast as possible – first from her daughters' lives and now from the town.

It didn't surprise him.

She'd stopped paying for health insurance two months ago. Since then, the state had been covering Buffy's care. Maybe California was covering Dawn too; he didn't know.

He trusted Mr. Giles to figure it out. Her medical needs weren't nearly as costly or dire as Buffy's, so Angel couldn't split his focus or his funds. Buffy needed everything he had and more.

Clenching the steering wheel, he felt his Claddagh ring pinch his skin. The pain helped him stay awake.

When he parked his car, the sky was still dark. He opened the door, stepped out, and dug for his phone. Walking towards the entrance, he dialed the familiar numbers. "Angel, I know I said stay away, but I take it back. I don't want you to get sick but–"


	20. Chapter 20

_Willie's_ had a new performer. Her lithe body was both flexible and strong. Angel turned away from the customers to watch her gracefully climb the center pole – higher and higher; then, with only her legs holding her up, she bent all the way back so her hair swept the floor.

As she spun, the jewels on her bra and transparent mini-skirt glittered under the shifting lights.

Her hands stretched to the floor and took most of her weight. Her legs relaxed their grip and she started writhing, riding the pole like she would a man.

His hands clenched with wanting.

One of her legs floated up and over her head, then the other. Soft as feathers, they landed and she twirled up to stand.

As her hands touched her hips and waist, he imagined his hands touched her too. Her skin would be smooth and warm. It'd feel perfect because she was perfect.

She began untying her bra and tossed her hair over her shoulder. He frowned. She looked like . . . different hair and darker skin, but he swore she looked like "Buffy?"

She smiled at the room –seeing everyone but him. She shimmied out of her top and kicked it to the side.

He stepped towards the stage. He had to be sure, he needed her to look at him.

She turned away, and unable to restrain himself, he climbed onstage "Buffy!"

He woke –groggy and alone, grimacing at his own discomfort.

He wasn't ever going to get used to this. Voicemails weren't enough; neither was seeing and touching her, caring for her.

He craved her eyes on him, her smile, _her_ touch.

They were each other's first and only.

Given their pasts, it was a miracle they sought comfort in a single person. He doubted either of them would trust anyone else enough to get intimate.

He felt uncomfortable just with other girls; he couldn't possibly kiss or grope, be groped or fucked by anyone but her.

Reaching under the sheet, he gripped himself tighter than she'd dared. He closed his eyes and imagined her mouth on him. He picture her hair and eyes as he stroked himself. She'd taken him as deep as anyone could.

Her fingernails would dig into his thighs. He could almost feel their sting. It contrasted perfectly to the silken brush of her hair. Her eyes watered but she persisted. He groaned and panted as she sucked him harder.

Her fingers reached around to grasp and probe. He shuddered at her explorations. "Buffy, I-"

Feeling the pad of her thumb press against his taint, he couldn't hold back. He grunted and emptied himself in her throat . . . except he didn't, because she wasn't here.

His strokes slowed and his grip loosened.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he breathed through his nose.

His hand stopped and his whole body relaxed. He wished he felt better, but he felt foolish. He could have handled this in the shower, but instead, he'd messed up his sheets. Now, he had to add laundry to his mile-long to-do list.

If Buffy had been here, if they'd dirtied the sheets together, he'd feel proud. When she finished wrecking him, he'd roll over and make her just as weak.

He knew her body almost as well as his own, and taking him over his edge always brought her to hers.

He opened his eyes to an empty expanse of sheets.

She'd never been in this bed; she may never be. He glanced around the sparsely furnished apartment. He'd gotten this place for her, the sheets, this bed and she might not live to see it.

Sitting up, he wiped the sheet across his stomach.

Despite what people thought, he didn't lie to himself – not about her. How could he? Seeing her every day, he knew better than anyone how weak she'd become.

He'd sat beside her while she got paler and smaller – so small he worried one day she disappear, and one day, she likely would.

Most patients died or recovered in the first few weeks of a coma. He'd been so relieved when she survived the first month. She hadn't recovered but she hadn't died either. Instead, she kept defying the odds at 6 weeks, 8 weeks, 12 weeks, 15 weeks. She held on longer than any doctor predicted she would.

He wasn't crazy for hoping.

Even though Buffy's body was suffering, it was clearly soldiering on – longer than he'd let himself hope it could.

The financial complications didn't daunt him as much as they encouraged him. He welcomed the prospect of mountainous debt. Accumulating medical bills meant time, meant a future.

He stood and started stripping his bed. After piling the sheets on the floor, he padded into the small bathroom. Originally, there had only been a shower in there. He'd added the tub himself when Buffy survived to eight weeks. Despite the difficulty and expense, he hadn't doubted the necessity. Her deteriorating muscles and joints tended tense and knot. If she were conscious, she'd be in agony. Hot baths would help relax her body. He couldn't stand the thought of her waking to unnecessary pain.

He turned on the overhead spray and stepped under the cold water. He washed his hair and body mechanically and turned off the spray.

As he reached for his towel, he glanced at hers. The towels he bought for her were large and smooth, absorbent and soft. They were folded under the counter next to mild soaps and adult diapers.

He quickly dried himself and threw on sweats and a t-shirt. Walking out of the bathroom, he scanned the studio apartment.

 _Rugs_.

He needed to get rugs.

He didn't want her feet touching the cold, hard floor here.

Besides rugs, though, he didn't see anything else missing– nothing she'd need anyway. There were no mirrors or pictures of family and friends here. There wasn't even a TV.

This apartment felt like a bubble, existing outside the rest of their lives. He wanted to keep it that way.

He went about gathering his notebook and highlighter dropping them into his bag with his physics book. He tossed in a protein shake and energy drink before sitting down to put on his sneakers.

He grabbed his phone from the table and saw it light up: _1 Missed Call_. Flipping it open, he saw Aunt Jenny's number listed. She must've called while he was showering.

He leaned back in his chair and dialed her number.

She picked up on the second ring, "If I woke you, hang up and go back to sleep."

He sighed, "You didn't, but I'm glad to know this isn't an emergency."

"No, we're just going mini golfing today – Connor, Rupert and Dawn. Wanna come? You kids can use the batting cages while the octogenarians pretend play golf."

"Aunt Jen –"

"Come have lunch with us. It'll be fun and better those cans of chemicals you've been chugging."

"No doubt." He scratched his damp hair. "I kinda have plans."

"Let us pick you up at the hospital. Connor and Dawn might stop in to see her."

"That's not a good idea."

"They miss her too and they miss you."

"Seeing us right now will hurt more than it'd help." He zipped his backpack close then fiddles with the zipper. "The facial swelling is a lot better and she's not hooked up to as much, but . . . she looks different, smaller. I'm used to it, but Dawn and anyone who knew her . . . it'd upset them."

"Dawn has seen her sister in bad shape before – just like Connor's seen you. They can handle it; they _want_ to handle it."

"And their last visit proved they can't, and they don't have to. She's not alone; I'm there. I'm with her . . . as much as I can be.

"At least let us drop you off some food – _real_ food. I can bring you leftover lasagna."

"Thank you. That'd be nice."

"Is there anything else we can bring? Anything you need – quarters for laundry, hair gel?"

He chuckled, "I'm fine, but I look like crap. We both do, so prepare yourself."

"We'll see you this afternoon, alright?"

He nodded even though she couldn't see it.

"I love you honey."

"Love you too."

He hung up and stood tucking the phone into his pocket. He slung his bag over his shoulder and walked out. As he locked the door, he rested his head against the firm, steady surface. The door held the weight of his trouble just as he held up against the weight of Buffy's.

He didn't feel up to a family visit – today or any other day, but Jen knew him well: Buffy was his first love but homemade cooking was running a close second.

He straightened from the door and trudged up the stairs.

 **OoOoO**

From his car, Mr. Giles and Dawn stared at the small two-story facility.

The parking lot was nearly empty.

They noticed Jenny's car parked closer to the entrance. It was empty, so Jenny and Connor were already inside.

Dawn spoke flatly, "I had fun today. Am I bad person for not wanting to end it this way?"

"If we'd started here there may have been no fun at all."

"Have you seen her since . . ."

"Not since those first few days, no…"

"When she was in the hospital, they were doing things; they were trying. Now, she's here and it's like they gave up on her."

"Jenny is just dropping something off for Angel. We don't have to go in."

"I don't know what's more depressing: her being in there or him." They continued to stare at the grey walls and small windows. "Maybe just for a minute."

"Alright."

They opened the car doors and walked across the lot.

They entered the sliding doors and paused. No front desk or staff greeted them. There were just multiple hallways.

Without signs or hints, they had to simply wander, look and listen.

They found elevators. Across from them, Connor sat hunched on a bench. He glanced up at them. "She shouldn't be much longer."

Giles nodded. "Are they on the next floor?"

"First left. Keep going straight."

Giles pressed the lift button.

Dawn turned to Connor. "Did you –" the opening doors cut off her question. She stepped into the wide elevator – wide enough to accommodate multiple beds.

Connor kept his eyes on the ground thankful for the reprieve.

The doors close slowly and the elevator rose even slower.

The doors opened to a hallway just as quiet as the ones below. They didn't see a single person or hear a single voice.

They turned left and continued down a hall of open rooms.

They glanced inside each one they passed.

Some rooms held more than one patient, but so far none of them had who they were looking for.

Towards end of the hallway, the lights got dimmer. Maybe they were burnt out or set intentionally low. Either way, the only real light came from the small bulbs above the patients' beds.

They found Jenny and Angel standing in front of one of those bulbs. Their mouths moved, but neither Giles nor Dawn could hear a word.

They stepped into the dim, still space.

Angel noticed them first.

He and Jen un-huddled and gave what they hoped were welcoming smiles.

Dawn stepped towards Buffy while Giles stared at Angel. Giles mouth hung slightly open in shock.

Gaunt and pale, the young man looked like a different person. He was still a tall and frankly intimidating figure, but now, he looked more like a patient than a visitor.

Dawn murmured, "Her hair grew."

Angel turned towards her and walked to the other side of the bed. "Yeah, it'll still be a few months before it's as long as yours."

She touched her own shorn locks. She hadn't cut them short as Buffy's, but now she wished she had.

Angel sat in a chair surrounded by homework and grocery bags.

A bit of color caught her eye. "You painted her nails."

"Spike's girlfriend did that."

Dawn's hand hovered over Buffy's. "They visit?"

Angel didn't want to make her feel bad, so he minimized, "sometimes they come by and keep me company. We kinda became friends through working together – not like him and Buffy were but . . ." He watched her pick up Buffy's hand.

She caressed it with her thumb and startled. "She just – she –"

"It's just a twitch." Angel leaned forward. "Dawn."

Her eyes widened as she stared at Buffy's hand. "She moved."

"She does that sometimes. It's normal." He looked at Jenny and Giles for help.

Jenny's expression was one of shock and regret. Dawn hadn't been prepared for this.

Giles stepped towards the bed. He gently laid his hand on Dawn's shoulder.

He felt her gasp as much as he heard it.

"She did it again." She whispered, "Buffy?"

He met Angel's pleading eyes. "Dawn, how about you let Jenny take you downstairs. He doctors will let us know if anything changes."

They all watched her set down Buffy's hand.

Dawn didn't want to let go, but finally, she pulled back.

Jenny stepped around Giles to wrap her arm around Dawn. "Come on sweetie, let's go find Connor." They walked to the door together.

Angel started coughing, but neither of them looked back.

Giles glanced at Buffy before glaring at Angel. "What are you playing at?"

Angel stared at the empty door. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"The comatose don't moan."

"It was a sound Rupert, just a sound."

"Does the staff know?"

Angel scowled. "Of course they know." He looked at him. "Ask any medical professional here and they'll tell you her condition hasn't changed." He matched Giles' glare. "Don't you dare let Dawn think otherwise."

"This is positive change."

"Don't."

"How long?"

Angel leaned back in his chair and simply stared.

Giles stiffened.

Finally, he answered. "A couple days."

Giles took a few deep breaths, but he didn't feel any steadier. "Any other noticeable changes?"

"None that mean Dawn is getting her sister back. That moan could be the _**last**_ sound she makes – in fact it's likely. Change isn't the same as progress. Buffy is still unresponsive." He looked at her relaxed face. "I told Dawn the truth: these variations are normal."

Despair rained from Giles' mind to bottom of his stomach. He felt physically ill. He'd let himself hope just as much as Dawn had. Remembering the boy's haggard appearance, Giles felt overwhelmed with shame. "You look like you've suffered many such disappointments."

Angel looked at him with bloodshot eyes. "Please don't bring her here again."

Giles took a deep breath and nodded. "If either of you need anything, all you need do is call."

"You're watching over after Dawn; that's enough; that's everything."

Giles sat in a chair pushed against the wall. He stared at Buffy's pale, still hand. "That week I'd spoken with a social worker. I'd planned on talking to Buffy after the ceremony, get her thoughts . . . Every day it seems I have a new question I want to ask her."

"I know the feeling."

Giles pulled his gaze back to Angel, "Do you mind if I have a moment alone with her?"

Angel stood. "I'll go say goodbye to the others."

Angel stepped out and Giles listened to his footsteps echo in the empty hall. He stared at her hand watching for movement. "I'm sure you're young man keeps you apprised of everything. . . He's surprised me." He leaned forward in his chair. "I admit when you told me you were engaged, I thought you were too young; I thought you both were." He smiled gently. "I know better now."

He stood and stepped closer to her bed. He looked at her expressionless face. "He told me you were coming to see him that day. If I hadn't come by your house . . ." He brought his hand over hers. "I should have trusted your judgment. I can't take it back or make this right. All I can say is Dawn is safe and well." Her hand twitched under his. "She had a good day today. She'll be okay. We'll all make sure of it."

He waited for another twitch another anything, but nothing changed. She was as Angel said: _unresponsive_.

Sighing, he pulled his hand back. "I'm sorry."

He turned towards the dark hall. He hesitated in the doorway and looked back. Across the dim, quiet room, he whispered, "Goodbye Buffy."

He forced himself down the hallway and back to the brightly lit elevators. Stepping inside the open doors, he accepted the likelihood that was the last time he'd see. Given her deterioration, he doubted her funeral would be open casket.

On that morbid thought, the lift descended.

As doors opened, he saw the Angelus boys sharing the bench. They didn't look like they'd been talking.

Giles stepped out and glanced for sign of Jenny and Dawn.

"They're outside."

Giles nodded.

Connor stood. "I'm gonna stay a while longer. Aunt Jen knows."

Angel stood too. "I'll drop him back on my way to work."

"I'll see you at school then." Giles watched the brothers enter the lift. "And Angel, I'll…"

Angel smiled sadly. "Bye Jeeves."

Giles throat closed the same time the elevator did. Jeeves had been Buffy's teasing name for Giles – back when he considered her just a student and he was just her librarian.

Angel had never called him Jeeves before and likely never would again. Angel was saying goodbye – not for himself but for her. . . . doing what she couldn't.

Giles nostrils flared as emotion threatened to overwhelm him. He'd long outgrown the notion of soulmates, but Angel's behavior since the accident was making him wonder.

Could two people really share a soul?

If they could, he was glad more people didn't. Losing Buffy was destroying Angel. The boy would never fully recover. How does one carry on with only half a soul?

 **OoOoO**

Connor watched his brother dig into the cold lasagna with a plastic fork. "You still think he'll come after her?"

Angel spoke with his mouth full, "who?"

"Her dad." Connor frowned. "That's why you're camped here, right? You're scared he'll show up."

Angel stared at his food. "I'm not talking about this with you."

"You can't guard her every minute of the day."

Angel just grunted.

Sighing, Connor looked around the room. His gaze froze on Buffy's open eyes. "Angel, she's doing it again."

Angel grunted again without looking up.

"You sure it doesn't mean anything?"

"It means she's in a vegetative state." After one more bite, Angel replaced the lid on the lasagna. "She could regress into coma or stay this way: minimally active but less-than conscious." He set the container back in the bag and walked to her side.

"How do we know if maybe she's getting better?"

With one hand, he closed both her eyes. "Blinking would be a start – purposeful movement."

"Does it ever creep you out?"

He returned to his seat. "Sometimes."

Connor walked towards the second chair in the room and sat down. "I'm graduating in December."

Angel raised a brow. "With a diploma or a GED?"

"For real graduating. That's what the summer classes were for. I have enough credits to be done – no point in staying. High school sucks."

Staring at Buffy, Angel nodded.

"UC Sunnydale won't let me start until next fall, so I'll be around to help."

Angel didn't even acknowledge his words.

"You can't do this by yourself. Aunt Jen says you plan on bringing her to your apartment soon. How do you expect to pass your classes, go to work and take care of her full time? Angel, I want to help."

Angel watched Buffy's face start to grimace. By now, he was used to her varying expressions. "I didn't want to return to school, but I know Buffy would kick my ass if I put my life on hold for her – same way I'll kick yours."

Connor shook his head. "It'd just be for a couple months. What's the big –"

"Get a job, get a car, go to community college, ask out pretty girls to dinner and a movie." Angel swallowed. "When Buffy wakes up she's gonna ask what you've been doing and you're gonna have a damn better answer than watching her sleep."

He slouched back in his seat. "You mean that?"

"She'll be pissed you even offered."

"No, not that. Do you really think she'll recover?"

Angel's gaze drifted to the floor. "Her medical prognosis hasn't changed. Her doctor doesn't expect her to regain consciousness."

"But you think they're wrong."

Without blinking, Angel whispered, "yes."

Connor's stomach dropped. Angel didn't just _hope_ she'd recover. He really believed it. He had faith – not in god or science – but in her. "Aunt Jen already said she'd help me get a car. I'll sign up for classes and find a job and stay at your apartment when you and Spike go to work."

"Con –"

"I can't sit back and let another person we care about suffer alone. I won't."

Angel nodded to himself and stood. "Come here."

Connor came around to the other side of the bed so Buffy lay between them.

Angel cradled her head in both his hands. "Most of her movements have to do with muscle tension." His fingers began probing and massaging the back of her head and neck. "Every day I help her muscles to relax and her blood circulate to her extremities." He pulled his hands back, "can you lift the sheet?"

Connor held the sheet and watched Angel carefully roll her to her side.

"It's difficult to help her without hurting her. The least amount of pressure can cause a bruise or rash." He positioned her arms and nodded for Connor to release the sheet. "But she needs to be moved. Lying in the same position all day stresses her body." He caressed her palm loosely linking their fingers. "Her mind already has a lot on its plate; I don't want it getting distracted." Gradually, her face lost its grimace. For a second, she almost looked like she was smiling.

Angel pulled away and started gathering the groceries along with his backpack. "There aren't enough nurses or hours in the day to give every patient here the care they need. They're doing the best they can, but she'll be better off with me."

Connor followed him out of the room. "Where are the nurses anyway?"

He shrugged. "Around this time, most staff are getting conscious patients ready for dinner."

"So . . ." Connor glanced at him. "Once I finish high school, can I go to _Willie's_?"

Angel coughed and laughed as he pushed the elevator button. "Sure, but on Spike's shift – not mine."

Connor grinned, "Deal."

"I don't have to tell you not to drink."

"No, but you will."

The doors opened and they stepped inside.

"Jesus, I'm a terrible big brother."

Connor pat his back. "Not too terrible."

They shared a smile as the doors closed.


	21. Chapter 21

"Where is she?!"

"Sir, calm down." The nurse held up her hands. "Tell me what happened."

Hank Summers gestured with bleeding knuckles, "Buffy, she was here. You had her. She didn't just walk out of here," He half-laughed, half-sobbed.

A police officer calmly approached. "Sir, what seems to be the problem?"

"What have you done with her?" His arm shot across the counter grabbing the nurse's scrubs. "Where the fuck is my daughter?"

The officer raised his hand towards him. "You need to release her and talk to me. Sir!"

Hank shoved the nurse back making her fall. Looking over, he watched the officer's gaze take in his blood he shirt and shoes. "I want to see my daughter."

The cop nodded. "Buffy, right? What's her last name?"

He spat, "Summers."

"And yours?"

"Hank."

"Okay, Hank, we're going to find out where Buffy is." Another officer appeared behind Hank. "But first, you need to let my partner take your weapon okay? We don't want anyone getting hurt tonight."

"They're already hurt!" He slammed the counter making the nurse and orderlies jump.

"I know Hank. And these people are doing their best to help. Just keep your hands where I can see them, so we can make this room a little safer for all of us, okay?"

Hank's eyes darted around the room — at windows, hallways. Breathing heavily, he stomped towards the hallway between him and the officer.

With his back to them, he gave both cops a good view of the gun in his waistband.

"Hank." The officer tried to keep his voice firm but safe, authoritative but nonthreatening. "Hank, whatever happened, we can figure this out."

Hank continue down the hallway without looking back. Hearing the officers call out again, he started running.

 **OoOoO**

Angel got the call after his second class; he never made it to his third.

That morning, the police had gone to the high school because Dawn was next of kin and Mr. Giles was her guardian.

In the privacy of Giles office, two officers informed them that Mr. and Mrs. Summers died last night. After fatally shooting his wife, Hank went to Sunnydale General Hospital looking for his eldest child. He hadn't known she'd been transferred to the county's long-term care facility. Joyce probably never told him . . . .

Unable to find his comatose daughter, Hank Summers shot himself on hospital grounds.

Angel was jogging to the parking lot as Giles spoke. He barely thanked him for the call before starting his car and driving to Buffy.

He parked sloppily and ran up the empty stairwell to her dim hallway.

He reached her doorway and stood simply staring.

She looked as she always did: peaceful and still.

A nurse had rolled her to her back during the night.

He dropped his bag inside the door and strode to her. Moving her to her side, he climbed onto the bed and pulled her to lean on his chest.

He embraced her and pet her and breathed in the scent of her hair. He welcomed every twitch and huff she made.

Despite all the danger surrounding her, she'd survived.

Somehow, she was still alive.

He was holding her too tight and touching her too much and he couldn't stop. She was the one who just became an orphan, but he was suffocating from memories of the day he became one too. He hated that this was another thing they had in common now.

No space existed between their two bodies. Her arms were trapped between their bodies, but he wouldn't separate to free them. He wouldn't separate for anything.

Hours passed with him holding her to him.

Gradually, he felt it easier to breathe. With his arm around her and his leg over hers, he felt relaxed enough to doze. He doubted he'd ever sleep well without her.

He needed to take her with him. He dreamt of the apartment, their secret sanctuary under the ground. Besides him and Buffy, Lorne, their landlord, was the only one who knew where it was. Jenny and Connor knew he lived downtown, but he'd never told them exactly where. There'd been so many available excuses to change the subject. Which meant if he took her there now, no one would find them. They'd be safe there, safe together, then they could rest.

He stroked her back and murmured against her temple, "Ready to go home?"

That was when he felt it: the friction against his chest.

Looking down, he saw her head move, nod.

He stilled.

He hand flattened against his chest.

"Buffy?" He shifted lower on the bed to see her face. "If you can hear me, open your eyes. Please, baby, open your eyes."

He held his breath as her eyelids flickered.

He pressed her hand more firmly against his chest.

Her eyelids opened and focused on him.

His breathing return too fast, too much.

She was looking at him, really looking at him – her face tense and frowning.

He released her hand to smooth the way her frown.

To his shock, her hand shakily rose and did the same for him. Her small fingers felt nearly as light as air. As they brushed his brow and cheek, he struggled against the urge to close his eyes. His breath stuttered at how right this felt.

Her eyes watching him felt like a second touch. Her gaze followed the movement of her hand. She watched every part of him she touched.

"Buffy."

She blinked and paused the movement of her hand.

"Look at me."

She blinked again; her eyes returned to his. She heard him, understood him, but did she know him?

Doctors told him waking from coma, didn't mean waking with the same memories or even the same personality. They told him she'd be different, but more than likely, she wouldn't _be_ at all. Over and over, staff recommended he prepare himself for her death.

But here she was: listening to him, watching him and _touching_ him.

He rested his hand on her cheek.

Turning her face into it, she closed her eyes.

"No," he whispered. "Don't look away."

Her hand slipped from his temple to the bed between them.

"Buffy? Stay with me."

She pressed her lips against his palm, but she didn't open her eyes again.

His other hand reached for hers. "Baby, squeeze my hand. Can you do that?"

A light squeeze was her reply.

"Good. Keep doing that. Let me know you're here. Don't stop." He stroked her short hair and earned another squeeze. "Don't stop."

Over the next little while she squeezed his hand twice more before slipping away from him. No amount of whispered pleadings, gentle shaking, or caresses could pull her back.

He didn't want to believe that was their goodbye. He wasn't ready to lose her. . . . He'd never be ready.

He pulled his hand back from hers embarrassed by how tight he held it.

He'd meant to be a comforting, steady presence when she woke. Instead, he'd been desperate and demanding. He couldn't calmly let her fade to nothing — even if that was easier for her, less painful.

Shame at his selfish desperation roused him from her bed. He stood and slowly blinked at the walls around them reacquainting himself with reality.

After reading his watch, he picked up his bag off the ground.

If he left now, he could still grab something to eat before his shift at _Willie's_. He turned back and moved her so she lay on her other side.

Lying beside her for eight hours left him hungry, thirsty and stiff. All his muscles ached.

Still, he felt reluctant to leave. If he could, he'd never leave this room again. Thinking about the bruise he'd find tomorrow, he frowned. If any of the staff had caught him shaking her, they would have thrown him out — and with good reason. And yet all he could think about was shaking her again – even harder.

Maybe she needed that from him – needed violence to wake.

He stepped back jerkily. He couldn't trust himself with her right now. He continued stepping back and turned into the hall.

This day had truly wrecked him.

He nearly jogged down the stairs.

The farther away he was, the safer she would be.

As the facility door swung open and closed behind him, he imagined never coming back. He didn't want to tell her about her parents. He didn't want her to know, but she would. Eventually, she'd know everything and he didn't know if he could handle her pain.

He got in his car and slammed the door. Breathing hard, he gripped the steering wheel and rested his head against it. His thought of leaving warred with his desire to run back inside, rattle her bones with shaking and screaming until she woke and learned everything: about her parents deaths, Dawn's summer, his own madness.

Instead of calming, his breathing grew more intense. He reached over and blindly felt for his glove compartment latch. Inside, he felt his pack of smokes and the cheap lighter he'd attached with a rubber hand. He pulled it out and sat back in his seat.

He rolled down his window and lit one up.

He smoked and shook and stared.

For once, the sky matched his mood: gray and empty. Maybe it would rain or to stay this way until darkness fell.

If this cigarette didn't kill his appetite, the one he planned on smoking after definitely would. How could a body function on just caffeine and smoke?

Buffy shouldn't have to see him like this. He recalled the emotion in her eyes as she touched him. She'd looked sad, concerned. With her nonexistent stores of energy, she tried to comfort him.

Recalling how she squeezed his hand again then again — just because he'd asked — he sputtered and coughed. Recovering his breath, he realized how good the cool air felt in his chest. He breathed it in along with the smoke.

By the time he finished his first smoke, he knew what he should do.

With steady hands, he pulled out his phone and pressed the speed dial.

He started with "Buffy's fine. Dru's fine — as far as I know. Look, can Adam spare you tonight?" He shook his head. "Don't need you here, but _Willie's_ , I'm hoping you can cover my shift." His shoulders relaxed at Spike's easy agreement. "Thanks. I'll be good for tomorrow shift. Tonight will be plenty." He hung up and tossed his phone in his bag along with his smokes and lighter.

Then he dug around under and behind his seats until he found the protein bar and water bottle he kept for emergencies. He wanted to nourish his body, but he also wanted to stay close to hers. He tore open the wrapper and finished the bar in three bytes, then he chugged the whole bottle of water.

He looked out at the facility. They didn't like him staying so late, but when he told them about earlier, they'd probably make an exception. If he was particularly persuasive, they might even let him have a cup of their coffee. Months of gift bringing had to be good for something.

He opened his door and stood.

He pulled back his shoulders and took a deep breath. He was fed, hydrated, and breathing normally.

If Buffy opened her eyes again, he wanted her to see a familiar face, hear a comforting voice and know she wasn't alone.

 **OoOoO**

After spending the rest of the day at home, Giles and Dawn went to Jenny and Connor's for dinner.

There was food to fill them and TV to excuse them from talking more than they wanted.

Helping Jenny cleanup, Giles confessed his concerns about funerals: how much of Dawn's inheritance should go to Hank's burial? Should Joyce's service include mention of her husband? Should they be buried in the same cemetary?

Giles wasn't ready to think about the house. It would need to be sold of course, but surely, it needed repair and sorting first. How much could he do himself and how much of it should he pay a professional to handle?

Giles and Jenny's hushed conversation was easy to ignore — maybe not for Connor but definitely for Dawn.

She excused herself to the restroom and when she didn't return Connor followed.

He found her staring at his brother's closed-door. Knowing it wasn't locked, he opened it for her.

Noticing her frown, he explained, "He didn't take much with them. . . . "I don't think there's anything of Buffy's left ear, but you're welcome to look."

He assumed that's what she wanted: some connection to the family she lost. She stepped passed him and without touching anything, she looked around the room. Finally, she spoke, "where is he tonight?"

"My guess is with Buffy. I don't see him showing up to work after…"

She nodded. "It's good she's not alone — even if she doesn't know it." She looked at the closet. "Is it okay if I…"

He nodded.

While she opened the closet, he sat and Angel's desk. This room hadn't changed much. Besides his pillows and clothes, Angel left everything behind. Although Connor didn't understand it, he felt grateful. He missed his brother. Passing a bare room every day would've made him miss him more.

"What's this?"

Connor swiveled towards her, but he couldn't see what she was hunched over.

Stepping closer, he frowned at the box she'd found. It was filled with drawings and watercolors, but they weren't Angels. He recognized some of them as Dawn's and assumed the others were hers too. He knelt beside her. "I don't know why he has this."

She touched every page and dug through the box whimpering at discovered art supplies. "I thought they were gone."

"I'm sorry Dawn. I don't know why he took these."

"I'd asked Buffy to hide them from dad, but I didn't think she had a chance before…"

Connor lifted one of the boxes flaps. "Look."

Dawn folded up the flap and saw the envelope taped there. Angel's name was written in her mother's handwriting. Dawn open the envelope and two notes fell out — one was in Buffy's bubbly print; the other was in her mother's smooth cursive. Dawn read her mother's first: _"I found this in Buffy's things. I don't need to understand it to respect it. I hope you'll do the same."_

Connor picked up the second scrap paper. It felt like a napkin. "It says, ' _take Dawn's art to Angel's_.'"

"This wasn't for mom." Dawn's eyes teared as he handed it to her. "Buffy wrote this for herself — when I asked, so she wouldn't forget."

"I guess your mom follow through. Why wouldn't Angel tell anybody about this?"

Dawn shook her head and frowned at the messages. "He probably meant to, but Buffy . . . I think he just forgot."

Connor huffed, "I can't believe him. That's so – so messed up."

" _Everything_ is messed up. This…" She flipped through the pages again. "This isn't the worst."

He noticed her small smile. His brother's forgetfulness meant she was finding this box on the worst day of her life. Her lost treasures were giving her what she needed most: a reason to smile, proof she still could.

He sat back. "Well, you were looking for something of Buffy's and found your stuff instead. Good instincts."

She hadn't let go of the napkin.

"I can still call him and yell at him if you want. Give him a dead leg or something when I see him."

Her thumb ran over her sister's handwriting. "Maybe, just hug him for me?"

He shrugged. "But after the hug, he's gonna get the world's worst wedgie."

She choked on a chuckle.

This wasn't a day for smiling, but both of them were. His stupid brother and her crazy mom did a whole lot wrong, but miraculously, they got this one just right.

Dawn returned both notes to the envelope. "Do you have anything of theirs?"

"Your family's?"

"No, yours — of your sisters or your mom's?"

He shook his head. "Just pictures."

"Do you wish you had more?"

"Angel does. He wishes he had mom's wedding ring: the one our dad gave her. And this old belt buckle – dad had a silver buckle with like a Griffin on it. He polished it all the time so it was big and bright. It probably looked ridiculous on, but Angel thought it was the coolest thing ever."

"What happened to it?"

He shrugged. "Things happened fast. By the time we got a moment to breathe or think, we were already here with the clothes on our backs and each other." Neither of them asked Aunt Jenny about all the things left behind. Their old life was gone and they both just accepted it.

Dawn glanced around the room. "If her stuff is still at the house, I want it, but if it's not, I don't want to go back." She looked at him. "Do you think Angel would know?"

Connor smiled and pulled out his phone. "I bet my stalker big brother knows all kinds of things."

"You don't have to –" but he was already dialing.

Grateful for a chance to be useful, Connor felt energized when Angel picked up. "Hey, when was the last time you went to Buffy's house?" Connor looked at her. "Dawn's here. She wants to know if their stuff still there – you know the stuff that's not sitting in your closet." Connor smiled at his brother's reply. "She might not hate you forever if you know the status on the house." Connor nodded and held the phone between them turning on the speaker function.

"Dawn, can you hear me?"

"Hi Angel."

"I'm sorry about your artwork. Your mom gave that box to me while you were away and I just haven't been home since you've been back. It's no excuse. I shouldn't have forgotten. I'll make this up to you Dawn."

"It's okay. It's here and safe." She sighed, "The house doesn't have any photos left; I kinda destroyed the mall, but if there is any of her clothes or jewelry still there – anything really…"

"I'll get access even if I have to break in. If there's anything left, I'll bring it to you."

"And you don't have anything of hers. . . You didn't take anything before?"

He paused. "The last time I was in her room, I didn't see anything – undamaged, but maybe I didn't look hard enough."

Dawn picked at loose thread of her sweater sleeve. "What kind of damage?"

Connor didn't think Angel should answer that and apparently Angel agreed because all he said was "I'll find something."

Dawn sighed her acceptance. "Thanks, sorry to bug you at work."

"I took the night off. I didn't want to leave her today and the staff made an exception."

"I guess everybody knows then."

"Knows?"

"I should be used to it." She deliberately stopped pulling her sweater threads. "I mean this was not a subtle summer."

"Want me to bully anyone for you? I'll glare, tailgate, throw them out of the Bronze or Willies. Student, teacher – doesn't matter. Give me a name; I'll make their life hell." By the time, Angel finished his rant, Connor and Dawn were smiling. He continued, "they don't need to have even said anything to you. I'll do it just for fun."

Connor nudged her, "sure there ain't any cheerleaders you want to see wet their pants?"

"Give me a name, any name."

Dawn shook her head snickering.

Connor waggled his eye brows. "I can bully too you know. Prank calls, gum in their hair."

"Don't trust him Dawn. He just wants the cheerleaders' phone number."

"Thanks dorks. I'll keep your offers and mine."

"It's a serious offer. I could use the distraction."

Dawn pulled out her sleeve again. "Has she moved again?" Feeling Connor stare, she shook her head. "Sorry, I shouldn't have asked."

No one spoke a moment.

Finally, Angel sighed, "Yeah, she moved."

Not even Connors staring could keep her small smile at bay.

"Look, I'll come by later this week with what I find. You're not returning to school yet, right?"

"No, Giles got us out of the next couple days. You know, you don't have to make an extra trip. I could meet you in the lobby or her room or something." Glancing at Connor proved he wasn't just staring anymore, he was scowling. "I won't freak out this time – promise."

"Dawn, I can't stop you from showing up. All I can do is ask you to trust me: coming back right now isn't going to help."

She picked up her box and stood. "Okay, fine."

"I'll bring you something by the end of the week."

She looked at Connor. "I'm gonna find Giles. It's late."

Connor nodded and watched her go. He switched the phone speaker off and raised it to his ears. "You really hanging there all night?"

"Nurses gave me a blanket."

"Call if you need anything."

"You too."

Connor started to pull the phone away, but then pressed it closer to his ear. "Angel, I – I…"

"Me too. Try to sleep if you can."

"You too."

Connor hung up feeling frustrated and alone. Part of him wanted to drive to his brother and spend the night in companionable silence. The other part of him never wanted to leave the house or answer the phone again. The only thing waiting out there was more bad news.

He settled for staying in Angel's room and keeping the phone by his side. It was the closest he could get to his brother without leaving the safety of home.

 **OoOoO**

Angel didn't know how long he stared at his phone after hanging up. Eventually, though, a knock interrupted his trance.

Looking up he saw two delicate, smiling faces. "What are you doing here?"

They stood in the doorway holding coffee and a sandwich.

"And how'd you know I'd be?"

Drusilla and Darla seem to float towards him. "You told Spike you wouldn't be at work." They placed their gifts on the chair before him. "It was our night off so we came to see what the tizzy was about."

Drusilla pet Buffy's rumpled hair. "How's our girl? She give her Angel a scare?"

"Kind of." He accepted the coffee cup from Darla. "Or I gave her one."

He was barely aware of Darla stroking his hair much like Dru stroked Buffy's.

Darla murmured in her low, comforting voice, "you're so good worrying over her like you do."

Drusilla nodded. "If she could see you now, she'd fall in love with you all over again."

Darla leaned on the wall beside his chair. "I never got a chance to meet her. I was off the day Spike brought her to _Willie's_."

Drusilla smiled at Buffy's flopping hair. "She was a ray of sunshine in every dark place she walked through." She tried to pet her hair into order again, but the short strands kept popping back up. "She was Artemis and Athena and Aphrodite."

Angel reached for the sandwich. "Minus the immortality."

Darla wrapped one arm around his shoulder. "Alas, she's only human."

Drusilla smirked. "There's nothing 'only' about this little warrior."

Angel groaned over a mouthful of meat and vegetables – thankful for real sustenance.

Buffy's hand flexed and under the sheet, her foot twitched.

Dru gasped and Darla clutched Angel shoulder. "Is she…"

He stared at his food. "It's normal."

Embracing him from behind, Darla pressed her face to his. "My beautifully, tortured Angelus, how do you stand it? It's like living in a horror movie."

Drusilla rubbed her own arms slowly. "A waking nightmare."

Angel sat up shaking Darla off. "You don't have to watch." He set his food down. "Thank you for coming by, but it's time you get back to the rest of your evening."

Darla ran her hand along his shoulder and arm as she walked around his chair. "We'll go just as soon as you finish eating. You look about as fragile as her right now."

"Can't have our favorite bodyguard falling faint." Dru leaned against the opposite wall watching him watch Buffy.

He was waiting for movement but she'd returned to stillness. Her earlier gaze and touch felt more and more like a dream.

Dru frowned. "You can't keep punishing yourself for her state."

Darla crouched before him. "Finish what we brought and walk around the building with us." She lay her hand on his wrist. "Then we'll leave you to your vigil or your penance. No more offensive commentary." She smiled. "Promise."

He reached for the sandwich again and leaned back.

Darla stood back and joined Dru against the doorway. Keeping their word, they conversed quietly with each other about inoffensive topics. They didn't ask him anything or even look at him and when he finished eating, they let him walk a few paces ahead and away from them.

They followed him to the parking lot and around the building several times before saying goodbye. He escorted them to their car, repeated his thanks, and accepted their hugs.

Watching them drive away, his gaze rose to the flat, black sky. Clouds obscured both moon and stars. In spite of there being no lights to hold his interest, he continued staring at the sky as he pulled out his cell phone.

After dialing his voicemail, he skipped the first message and held his breath as the second started to play. Static and rustling. It started like a lot accidental dials, but then he heard _her_ voice, _"What'd you get?"_

A distant voice squealed, _"A time-honored classic!"_

" _Okay, Willow, can I give you a little friendly advice?"_

" _It's not spooky enough?"_

" _It's just you're never gonna get noticed if you keep hiding. You're missing the whole point of Halloween."_

" _Free candy?"_

" _It's come as you aren't night. The perfect chance for a girl to get sexy and wild with no repercussions."_

" _Oh, I don't get wild. Wild on me equals spaz."_

" _Don't underestimate yourself. You've got it in you."_

" _Hey, Xander!"_

" _What-"_ The message cut off. She must have bumped into something ending the call.

He'd told her about the call but never mentioned keeping and replaying the voicemail.

He just couldn't get enough of hearing her happily hyper. She could have been talking to anyone about anything with that voice and that energy and he'd listen to it again and again.

He just wanted her to be alright.

That's all he'd ever wanted for her . . . wanted badly enough to hallucinate?

He didn't trust his mind anymore, but he didn't need to.

He trusted Buffy. If it was possible to come back to him, she would. She was stronger than odds or fate. She was stronger than anything life threw at her.

In time, she'd beat this too.


	22. Chapter 22

"Morning peaches." Spike walked in with a to-go cup which he immediately dropped. "Bloody hell." He stared at Buffy and _she_ stared back. "She – she's."

"Better." Angel squeezed the small hand he held. "Today."

"You could warn a bloke." Stepping forward, Spike slipped on the puddle of coffee.

Buffy's gaze followed him down.

Sprawled on the floor, he watched her watch him. "Well, hello pet." When she didn't acknowledge him by move or sound, he started to stand. "This is different than last week, right?"

"Yeah, it's different."

He glanced at Angel. "She communicate yet?"

"Take her hand."

Standing over her bed, he picked up her other hand.

"Buffy, can you squeeze his hand?"

She let her head loll to the side, so she could see Angel.

"Squeeze his hand for me."

She did.

"Jesus." Spike startled when she squeezed again. "You remember me pet?"

She took in a big breath and let it out quickly.

"Any words for your old pal?"

Angel held her lingering gaze. "Not yet."

"Have you left this place since she started up?"

He shook his head. "I will though. I got my shift at _Willie's_ tonight and I'll return to classes tomorrow unless-"

"Unless our girl starts showing off some. Hear that love? If you want Captain Forehead to stay, ya' gotta open that mouth and give us a vowel."

"I don't think incentive is the problem."

Spike huffed, "Lack of inspiration then. Some fresh air and sunbeams will get her singin' in no time."

Spike walked out and returned with a nurse.

Buffy apathetically watched the three of them lift her and hold her, seat her and strap her into a wheelchair. Hands tucked a blanket around her legs and another around her shoulders.

Angel pushed her and Spike chattered. The overhead lights were too bright and the elevator to smelly.

She didn't understand why Spike and Angel were here. Didn't they see she was shutting down? They couldn't help so why watch?

They slowly wheeled her out of hell, but they'd have to wheel her back. What was the point?

Outside, the air smelled bright and the sun felt warm. The green grass and yellow B's under the deep blue sky overwhelmed her. The colors hurt eyes but their beauty outweighed their pain. Her eyes began to water.

The boys continued talking but they were also crouching and leaning towards her. She suspected they were talking to her, but her ears were ringing and she couldn't catch any of their words.

Angel dabbed her tears and Spike held her hand.

She wanted Angel to hug her. She wanted him to carry her away from this building of death. Maybe if she got far enough away, she'd stop dying. She'd slowly start to feel like herself again.

But Angel didn't hold her and pick her up. He stayed crouched before her looking only mildly concerned.

She couldn't stop crying. Angel was so close, but she still missed him so much. She wanted him to take her home with him, but he wasn't doing that. He just kept talking.

Her limbs felt stiff and heavy, but she managed to lift one hand to his lips.

His lips still under her fingers.

She stared into his eyes willing him to see her thoughts – hear her need. But his mind remained as closed to her as her lips were closed to him.

Her voice was gone and she didn't expect it to return.

Her fingers slipped from his lips to his chin and then back to her lap. Giving up on telepathic communication, she closed her eyes and focused on the hum of traffic. Cars meant people and places – life that had hope – hope for so many things.

The boys stopped surrounding her with words. They silently sat beside and before her.

She felt the breeze. It carried a sweet scent to her – something fresh and eager grew nearby.

When Spike stood to leave, instead of words, he settled for a smile. She wanted to smile back, but her lips wouldn't even twitch for her. She couldn't respond like she used to. She couldn't do a lot of things. Angel didn't seem to mind though. He stayed beside her helping her so capably and knowledgeably. She began to wonder if he could read her mind after all. He responded to needs she hadn't even thought about and compensated for weaknesses at the exact moment she discovered them. He made himself an extension of her.

After he left, she felt severed and abandon. In his absence, the doctor asked things of her, things that should be simple but weren't. " _If you feel this, do that. If you know this, do this_." Touch, lift, flex, relax, blink, tap – again and again every failure brought more of the same request. Any victory earned new challenges – from doctors and nurses. The ringing in her ears made it difficult to focus.

Her growing list of failures seemed to disappoint them.

Their frustration fueled hers.

Tired of their expectations, she stopped trying to meet them or even understand them.

She pulled all her focus inward which was where it wanted to be anyway. Safe inside herself, she didn't need to blink or hear or move.

The doctor tried to force responses with lights and pokes and scrapes. Ignoring them was easier than breathing.

Eventually, they left.

She spent the rest of the day and evening alone. At some point she'd closed her eyes. She may not have opened them again if she hadn't felt _his_ touch.

His large hands pushed her short hair away from her face. She recognized his hands before his voice. Opening her eyes, she met Angel's worried gaze.

He held her limp hand again and asked her to squeeze.

She didn't.

Being disconnected from the world felt right. Physical pain barely touched her now. She wished he understood how comfortable and content she felt.

He lifted her hand to his face. His hand felt warm and damp over hers. His cheek and jaw felt prickly.

Her fingers twitched the same time her lip did. She felt her lips shaping his name. The next time they did, her mouth gave sound to the soft "g" of his name. She swallowed slowly and tried again. She heard the soft "g" again.

Apparently, that was enough for him. He kissed her palm and sobbed out laughter.

She lifted her other hand to his hair. They didn't have much time left. A small part of her was with him, but most of her was already gone.

She pulled on his hair – kept pulling even after he gave her his eyes.

Finally, he came closer. She didn't stop pulling until he lay beside her, until they touched from their heads to their toes. She shifted and turned into him.

He wrapped an arm around her and stroked her back.

She rubbed her nose along his. How long did dying take? She feared and craved the answer. She focused on parting her lips. As quiet as a breath, she asked "how long?"

"Buffy."

She felt more than heard her name.

After clearing his throat, he answered, "It's been 145 days since you've spoken, but today doesn't count now does it?"

He wasn't making sense.

His hand kept stroking along her side. "You've been in a coma since your graduation." He kept his eyes on hers. "You were hit by a car, but your doctor thinks you'll be fine. You can move your toes and legs. One of your legs was broken, but it's healing well. All of you is healing well." His hand paused. "Am I hurting you?"

She leaned to press her forehead to his and shook her head.

"But you are hurting." His hand resumed it stroking. He spoke in a low rumbling whisper. "Are you ignoring the nurses?"

She kept her gaze on his nose.

"You gonna ignore me too?" He kissed her nose. "Good luck with that."

She let her hand fall from his face to his chest. Feeling the neck of his T-shirt, she tried to clench it. Her hand barely closed around the soft cloth.

He nudged her forehead with his. "If I could take you out of here right now, I would. After this summer, I hate hospitals as much as you do – maybe more."

She shook her head and he smiled. "We'll call it a tie." He continued in a lower voice. "The faster you give them what they want, the sooner we can both leave this place and never come back."

Her eyes flickered up to him. She half-mouthed, half-whispered, "promise?"

His arm tightened around her. "If you keep getting better, I'll take you any place you want to go."

Hearing and feeling his sincerity, she breathed out, "deal."

He hugged her until the nurse returned, but Instead of leaving, he stayed while the nurse and doctor inspected and interrogated her.

Water and whispering didn't get her far. She lost her voice by the second question. With blinks she was able to continue answering yes/no questions, and she did continue listening and answering. With Angel beside her, the tests felt more helpful than cruel. They were assessing where she was with the goal of getting her back to herself, back in control.

Tomorrow, the exercises would begin. Angel had a lot of questions about those. He wanted detailed descriptions, how to's, how long's, how much. His curiosity confused her. He wasn't the one being tested so why was he trying to prepare?

Her curiosity faded quickly along with all her other thoughts. She fell asleep during their conversation.

She woke alone.

The hallway was quiet.

She had nothing to focus on but her aching, tensing body. Her leg and toes were cramping and she couldn't reach them. She had to lie still and endure. When one cramp ended another began.

Without meaning two, she fell inside herself, to a dark, and timeless corner of her soul. She still felt pain, but it was distant. A buffer rose between her and it.

Eventually, movement outside of herself earned her focus.

 _ **Dawn**_.

Dawn was here . . . Standing by the door then sitting by her bed then hugging her. Her sister was hugging her.

Buffy's hands slowly crept up trying to hug her back. Everything still seemed and felt far away, so she couldn't understand what Dawn was saying.

But Dawn was here and she was okay. Nothing Dawn said mattered more than that.

Dawn pulled back to look at her.

Buffy parted her lips and tried saying her name; no sound came out. Buffy settled for squeezing Dawn's hand.

Dawn started crying and smiling and hugging her again.

Waking up hurting with Dawn at bedside felt normal. Buffy had been hospitalized many times and Dawn was usually the first face she saw. This – her – made sense. It was the only thing that did.

Giles lingering in the doorway was yet another mystery. He'd never visited her in a hospital before. Why start now?

When Dawn pulled back again, Buffy's gaze flit between Giles and Dawn. She mouthed "mom?"

Dawn shook her head. "She couldn't come."

Giles chose that moment to step inside. "Hello Buffy, you've had quite the summer."

Dawn sat on her bed and Giles took the empty chair. His closeness made her uncomfortable. He sat as close as her mother might have, but he wasn't their family. He was just a friend-ish person . . .

She frowned at Dawn trying to ask with her eyes " _what's he doing here_?" But Dawn was as bad at Telepathy as Angel. Dawn kept smiling and chattering about hospitals and hair and vampires? Angel was a vampire?

Buffy just held Dawn's hand and tried to keep smiling smile.

Finally, Dawn paused for a breath. Her next words came slower, "he _**really**_ loves you."

Buffy tried to say his name.

She failed, but Dawn still understood. She nodded.

Buffy frowned again. She already knew Angel loved her. He loved her and she loved him and none of that explained why **Mr. Giles** was in the room right now.

He leaned forward in his seat. "You've been missed. Your doctor said you may not be up to visiting just yet, so your friends are waiting until you feel a little better."

Dawn squeezed her hand. "I couldn't wait."

Buffy squeezed back.

Giles started to stand. "We should let you rest."

Dawn frowned at the same time Buffy did.

Buffy didn't understand why they'd leave together and Dawn didn't want to leave at all. She didn't argue though. Dawn hugged her one last time before following Giles to the door.

Buffy nodded her acceptance and her goodbye.

Instead of watching them leave, she let her eyes close. She wanted to cry. She wanted to leave. If she couldn't ask her questions or understand their answers, she needed to see for her self – where was mom? where was dad? when were they coming?

She tried to lift her stupid legs from her stupid bed so she could leave this stupid place. Her legs moved slightly but she couldn't swing them to the ground.

She wasn't paralyzed or dead but she might as well be. Everyone else got to carry on with their lives and she was stuck here waiting and wondering.

No matter what Angel promised, she doubted was ever getting out of here. This was a life sentence; she could feel it.

 **OoOoO**

Without windows or clocks, her room made tracking time difficult.

Short dozes and long sleeps felt the same, and neither Angel nor the nurses tried to wake her. Staff came and went without her knowing and Angel simply was or wasn't. Opening her eyes, she never knew whether his chair would be empty or not. He'd wait for her to wake to touch her, and he touched her a lot. He had to. She couldn't feed herself or walk to the bathroom. His hands became her hands; his legs were her legs, but he arbitrarily insisted she use her own voice. Her nurse would ask her questions he knew the answers to, but when she looked to him, he just raised one brow and waited her out.

It was especially frustrating when she couldn't understand the question. Voices still sounded more distant than the ringing, and worse, her mind processed words much more slowly than others spoke them. Everyone spoke quietly to her, and no one spoke slowly.

Her voice was weak; her hands were weaker, so she couldn't ask them to slow down. She frowned, she cried, and once she intentionally pushed a cup of water to the floor, but each reaction was misunderstood, misinterpreted.

At this point, she was annoyed at anyone who walked in the room. She'd rather wither alone than work to understand their worthless ramblings.

"Ello ***cks."

She didn't look over.

That didn't stop Spike from sitting in her eye line and yammering , "**st me **day, bu* noth** *** *bou* *hat. Bes* *om***y ** *ow*, *ight p**? ** leas* *** *es* ****ing. Ange* **** ** by **ter ***ight. ** **** g* *** **ng ***hout *** bl***ie **x."

Watching his lips didn't help. It never helped.

She perked up at Angel's name, but she totally lacked context. Either he was late or he sent Will in his place, or he told will a joke which Will was retelling for her now. Hell, Will could be reciting poetry for all she knew. She closed her eyes and kept them closed. A sting on her arm startled her into opening them.

Spike was leaning forward and glaring at her. Since he just flicked her arm, she glared back just as angrily.

"**n* ** that *ow. ** **rked **r **ses **f ** kee* *** as fun*******l ** *oss**le, ** ***p im***a*in* * ****s*."

He emphasized his last words with another flick.

She wasn't capable of flicking or pinching or replying, so she reached forward and touched his hair. Foolish boy let her sink her hand into the bleached, gelled monstrosity. She curled her fingers and yanked her hand back scratching him and pulling his hair in the process.

The bastard actually grinned at her. His mouth moved, but she couldn't catch a single sound.

Reaching her limit, she huffed out a defeated breath and lifted a hand to her ear. It was the universal mind for deafness. She hadn't wanted to resort to this. She wasn't deaf, but it was close to the truth and easy to communicate.

Immediately, his grin fell. He opened his mouth, but stopped himself from asking or arguing. He just leaned back in his seat. If he told the others, everyone would stop talking at her. They'd mime or write things down. They'd figure out other ways to communicate – ways that didn't require her to work so hard. For the time being, though, Will seemed content not communicating.

After a bit of companionable silence, he stood and leaned over her. Ignoring her swats, he sat her up and piled pillows behind her. Then he lifted the sheet and rotated each leg, crossed and bent them toward her so there was room at the foot of the bed.

He climbed on and folded his own legs so they sat facing each other.

She was annoyed.

He didn't care.

Just as she finished crossing her arms, he reached out and pulled on her hands until they stretched between him and her.

Keeping his hands under hers, he swiped them out, up and around to slap hers. She gasped and yanked her hands back only for him to drag them forward again. This time he positioned her hands under his – daring her to slap him, daring her to try.

She dropped her hands to her ankles.

Instead of reaching for them, he lay his hands on her knees.

She recognized frustratingly relaxed expression: it meant he wasn't going away and he wasn't giving up. He looked at her like this any time she avoided trying a new throw or submission. While sparring, she hated using ineffective moves. And any move she hadn't mastered wouldn't work – it'd waste time and show weakness.

Will never debated the issue with words. He just keep putting her in positions which called for the new move he'd taught her. If she wanted to escape that stuck feeling, she had to try and fail and try again.

Spikes hands felt heavy on her knees. She'd never found the end of his patients before. She doubted she would now.

As she had every other time, she gave in sliding her curled hands forward. She couldn't straight them without help.

He didn't hesitate rubbing his hands over and under hers gently pulling her fingers towards him. He lifted his hands over hers and waited.

Her move.

After all the swatting and pulling, her forearms ached as she lifted and rotated them over Will's. He pulled his back at the last moment before pushing his palms under hers. His turn.

She stared at her hands as they tensed and slowly drew back from his. He tapped her hands and the goal became getting into position again and again and again.

When she could no longer hold her arms up, he changed the game to double thumb wars. He won every round, but winning wasn't her goal – simply moving was – proving she _could_ move.

She was sweating and cramping by the end. Their games ended when she could no longer move her hands.

Her stubborn friend had a plan for that too.

His hands pressed and stroked her hands, her arms – all the way up to and around her shoulders. She watched his hands massage away her pain. He was the one who first told her "everything's connected." Pain in one muscle or nerve stemmed from others and he diligently tracked the source of each pang.

When he finished with her arms, he slid off her bed and unbent her legs, soothing the aches in them as well. She felt herself starting to doze.

A while later her eyes drifted opened and found him sitting in his chair again.

He met her gaze without saying anything. Without smiling, he managed to look pleased.

He'd proven their connection had held. He could still sense what she needed and she could still sense what he wanted from her. When it came to each other, they could trust their instincts.

She was weak but she wasn't broken – not completely . . .

As they watched each other, their breathing synced.

She stared until she couldn't stare anymore.

At some point her eyelids fell.

When they rose again, she saw Angel sitting in Will's seat.

He wore a dark suit and a grim expression. She'd never seen him wear both at once.

The last time she'd that suit had been their anniversary. They'd gotten dressed up for a night of dinner and dancing – her idea which he obliged. She remembered how his lapel felt against her cheek as they swayed together.

She imagined him wearing the suit to dance with another girl, one who was healthy and whole. He must have cut his date short to check on her.

She frowned.

He shouldn't have done that. Girls in love shouldn't be abandoned.

He leaned forward in his chair – close enough for her to see his 5 o'clock shadow. She wanted to reach out and touch his stubble, but he wasn't hers to touch – not anymore.

She thought about looking away, but her eyes didn't care whose he was, just that he was here.

His eyes looked darker, his cheekbones more prominent; he looked weary and wonderful. "Buffy, can you hear me?"

He'd spoken so slowly, she'd understood every word. She stared at his mouth a minute before raising her hand to her ear.

He frowned and stood. He wanted her to get better and this wasn't better; this was worse.

Staring at his empty chair, she listened to him walk out.

Continuing to love her hurt him. She hoped someday he found a way to stop. She hoped they both did.

She didn't turn her head as his footsteps approached.

Angel returned to his chair with notebook and marker in hand. He was going to waste more time. Here. With her. Because he just couldn't let go – not yet. He wrote in large print and turned the notebook around, _"can you hear anything?"_

She didn't move.

He waited more than a minute before flipping the page in writing another question. _"Are you in pain?"_

She turned her head to stare at the wall. He wasn't her doctor. She had doctors. He didn't need to be here, be involved.

She heard a soft slide before his whole body loomed over hers. His eyes were too close to hers searching for truths that had nothing to do with him.

Her moods, feelings, and disabilities were her problems not his.

Before she could work up energy to raise her arm and pushed him back, he kissed her.

At first she felt too stunned to respond, but when he didn't stop, she started kissing him back. His stubble stung, his tongue warmed, and the pressure of his lips overwhelmed her.

Her hand rose to his chest holding him to her; he didn't even try to pull back.

Blocking out hospital lights and sense, he kept kissing her. They stole small breaths and shared them with each other.

She didn't recognize the sounds she made, but she recognized his. He sounded just like he had in her bedroom – before graduation and LA, when she wasn't a patient and he wasn't her keeper.

Grabbing a handful of his dress shirt, she tried to pull herself up. When she plunged her tongue inside his hot mouth, he cupped her shoulders and lifted her towards him. He slid his cheek against hers catching his breath. She continued kissing his jaw and neck.

He nuzzled her ear and wrapped his arms around her.

She, in turn, hugged him as hard as she could. Her arms quivered with the effort to hold him tight.

He still hadn't said anything – not even her name, and she was becoming desperate for his voice. She wanted him to murmur slowly that they'd get through this, that all this badness would pass and she'd feel like herself again, like the girl he loved.

He twisted to lie on her bed and pull her on top of him. The transition was painless proving his familiarity with her wires and bed railings. How many times had he laid beside her when she'd been unconscious?

She kissed the V of his collared shirt before resting her ear over his heart. It was pumping frantically just like hers.

She doubted he'd meant to kiss her.

Stroking his nice shirt, she wondered again if he'd worn it for a date.

Their last night in her room felt recent and vivid to her, but it wasn't for him. He'd been living his life while she'd been trapped here. He'd probably assumed she was going to die.

She'd first woken to the feel of his arms around her. That could've been him trying to say goodbye. She remembered the desperation in his voice then, the disbelief she'd seen in his eyes. He hadn't thought she was coming back.

She pressed her cheek harder against his chest. If she wasn't his girl anymore then she was the "other woman."

Planting her hand on his sternum, she struggled to rise.

His head turned towards her.

She leaned on his shoulder and pointed at the abandoned notebook. He glanced at the chair where it lay and frowned. Holding her more tightly to him, he leaned over with her and grabbed it off the chair.

She reached and flipped it to the back side of the first question. She tapped it and then put her thumb and index finger close together.

He plucked the sharpie from the wire spiral and wrote. " _You hear a little_ "

She nodded.

He flipped the notebook back to the second question. She patted his shirt and suit jacket. Looking at him she continued fiddling with his clothes.

He stared at her.

Maybe he didn't understand her question, or he didn't want to answer. She tapped the paper.

After another moment of staring, he wrote, " _funeral_."

Well, that was unexpected . . . She settled back against him. So if he did have a girlfriend, this hadn't been a big night for them. The more she focused on how close he held her the less she believed he had someone else.

He tapped the question he'd written earlier: was she in pain?

She took an inventory of herself. She'd been in pain ever since she woke in this bed, but she was getting used to it.

She was going to be in physical pain for the foreseeable future; no reason to dwell on it.

Instead of answering his question, she covered the hand holding the sharpie. Neither of her hands were strong enough to hold a pen, but they could direct his.

She tipped his hand so the pen touched the page.

With small pulls and pushes, she guided his hand to write the letters _TALK SLOW_. She made him underline the word "slow" twice before she pulled her hand away.

Feeling him watch her, she craned her neck to meet his eyes.

His low voice murmured very slowly, "if you're hurting, the nurse can help. _I_ can help."

She didn't want to talk about her throbbing leg or burning side. She didn't want to talk about herself at all. She wanted him to talk about himself, about his life outside of here.

She covered his hand with his again and pushed it lower on the page.

His hand followed her directions and formed the letters ABOUT YOU. She tapped the word _"talk"_ then _"about you"_

His whole body tensed.

Looking at him, she whispered, "please."

He frowned. "Are you having trouble remembering me?"

She rolled her eyes and stretched up to kiss him. Against his lips, she whispered "summer." She felt him sigh.

His smiling lips pressed against hers. "You want to know about my summer."

She nodded and watched him with amusement. Did he really think she'd be this intimate with him if she didn't remember exactly who he was and how she felt for him?

As she settled back against his chest, he kissed her hair. "It's been boring. I worked most nights and spent my days here getting lectures comas and traumatic brain injuries. I'm not taking anything for granted. You knowing who you are and who I am is a miracle." He touched his forehead to the top of her hair. "Do you remember anything from this summer?"

She slipped her hand into the gap of his collar and began rubbing small, tight circles into him with her thumb.

He understood. "Touching. You remember touching."

She croaked, "Light." She slid her hand up to his neck. "And you."

"Me?"

She opened her mouth to explain but ended up coughing. Her throat hurt from trying to talk – like _really_ talk, not whisper or mouth.

Now every breath itched her throat making her cough again.

Angel sat up and pulled away. "I'll get you water."

The coughs shook her head disorienting her. She felt dizzy.

Angel lifted her back into his arms helping her drink. Drops of water fell down her chin as she sipped.

He dabbed them away with his sleeve. He stroked her back while she recovered her breath.

Sagging against him, she noticed his ring. It was on the hand holding the cup, his left hand.

After he set the cup aside, she reached for his hand.

He let her hold it and trace the outline of his Claddagh. Her finger pressed against the sharp edge of the heart. It was pointed inward – just like the last time she'd seen it.

Above her, he spoke low and slow, "I'm yours."

She lifted his hand to her mouth and kissed the top of his ring.

He rumbled, "Whatever comes, I'm yours."

Surrounded by his arms, she believed every word.

She held his hand close to her chest and drifted off to the scent of his soap and the site of his ring.

* * *

 _ **Translating Spike's yammering:**_ **"Hello ducks. It's just me today, but nothing 'just' about that. Best company in town, right pet? At least the best looking. Angel will be by later tonight. He can't go too long without his blondie fix."**

" **None of that now. We worked our arsess off to keep you as functional as possible, so stop imitating a corpse."**


	23. Chapter 23

"She's not ready for this."

Detective Wood looked passed Angel. "She's conscious and coherent. Doc says her memories are surprisingly intact."

"She needs more time."

Seeing Angel cross his arms, Wood raised his brows. "You mean _you_ need more time to prep her."

Angel kept his voice low trying not to wake her. "She's not up for an interrogation."

He smiled. "You don't get a say here. Walk yourself out of this room or I'll throw you out." When Angel didn't move, Wood shrugged and pulled out his handcuffs.

Angel finally stepped aside. "She can't hear well."

"But nurses say she reads just fine." Wood stepped inside her room and started closing the door behind him. "Now, get out of here. If this interview goes the way I think it will, don't bother coming back."

Angel remained outside the door and listened to Wood's muffled voice. He was waking her up.

If Angel had known he was coming, he would have woken her himself. He could've explained what was going to happen and mitigated her anxiety. Now Buffy was alone with a stranger. She was going to be asked questions she wouldn't even want to think about. Angel had avoided any mention of that day for fear of upsetting her.

Since recovering from her coma, the smallest frustrations made her withdraw entirely or weep uncontrollably. Her emotions were on a hair trigger. It could be one of those personality changes her doctor warned about, but Nurse Carol said her overreactions were likely the result of physical pain. Her stomach was adjusting to food, her skin and muscles were adjusting to movement, and all the adjusting hurt.

Pain meds couldn't touch her twisting insides and exhausted outsides — not at the doses her doctor prescribed. But Dr. Post didn't deserve all the blame. Angel had sat beside Buffy during exams; he saw her shake her head to every question about pain. After her first exam, she never admitted to hurting. Apparently, she'd learned answering yes to that question meant more questions. _Are you in pain? Where? What kind - burning tingling? How intense — et cetera._

Questions frustrated her. For now, anything that required her to concentrate: listening, reading, talking, responding – it all exasperated her.

If she hurt less, she'd pay better attention, but until she tried to her pain — or at least admitting to it, the staff wasn't going to help her manage it.

Carol assured him the stalemate wouldn't last; the nausea and cramping would eventually lessen on its own. In the meantime, he had to accept Buffy's bouts of apathy and catatonia as her way of coping. After Wood questioned her, she'd likely feign sleep the rest of the week. Angel raked a hand through his hair.

He couldn't _not_ help her. Tackling the detective wasn't much of a plan, so Angel strode down the hall in search of backup.

 **OoOoO**

She'd just woken; she was flat on her back and she couldn't hear anyone else in the room. Seeing a stranger standing over her, Buffy started hyperventilating.

"Miss Summers, I'm Detective Wood with Sunnydale PD. I'm here to ask you about what happened at your graduation." He leaned up and sat in the chair closest to her pet. "Do you remember that day?"

She didn't nod or blink. She held her breath and prayed for Angel.

Frowning, he pulled out a small notebook and lifted it toward her.

She blinked at the words, _"I'm Detective Robin Wood from the Sunnydale Police Department. I need to ask about why you're here. Do you remember your graduation day?"_

She breathed out and nodded.

He turned away, bent and pulled up a laptop. He opened it as wide as it would go and set it on the mattress between her and the railing. The keys were within reach — but there were so many. He lifted the notepad to a new page. "Can you type your answers?"

She frowned. He was asking too much. Recounting that day meant a lot of words — too many words with too many letters. She shook her head.

He frowned too. Then he twisted away and pulled out a letter board. It was the same one the nurses here used with her. He replaced the laptop with the board and looked at her with the question in his eyes. For short answers, short words, the board was fine, but for an entire statement? This guy was crazy, and he was still the only one in the room with her. She wasn't going to go along with this, but she dreaded his reaction to her refusal.

Instead of shaking her head, she didn't move at all.

One of his eyebrows rose. He flipped to a new page, wrote for a minute, then showed her: _"I'm not going away. We can do a little at a time or all at once, but until you give your statement, Liam Angelus will not be allowed to visit."_

Her lips parted in shock. Her gaze jumped to the second chair where Angel left his notebook. She lifted her hand and pointed.

Seeing the paper and marker, the detective smiled to himself. He placed both items on her bed as she struggled to sit up. He stood, pulled her shoulders forward and stacked pillows behind her. His touch felt wrong, but she couldn't fight it. As useless as her body was, she couldn't fight any of this.

Before he could sit back down, she grabbed his hand. He let her rotate his wrist and press the sharpie against his palm. He leaned over her and removed the pen cap.

She dragged the notebook to her lap and tugged his hand to the page. Holding his hand with both of hers, she made his hand draw a square. Above that square she made him squiggle and **S** and an **H**.

He shook off her hand and wrote _"high school"_

Nodding, she reached for his hand again. Inside the square she made him strike the page twice so there were two vertical slashes. She pointed to one and then pointed to herself.

Nodding, he wrote her name above the slash.

She moved his hand to the firs slash and made him right **M A N**.

He frowned and beside her squiggle wrote _"Had you seen him before?"_

She shook her head and moved his hand again. Starting inside the square, above the slashes, she made him draw a long arrow that ended outside the square. Under that, she made a circle with his hand with two darker circles beneath.

The detective wrote in _"car."_

She nodded and drew an arrow from the car towards the high school. Releasing his hand, she sat back.

He wrote, _"Who was driving?"_

She shrugged.

He wrote _"describe car."_

She pointed towards the letter board on the ground. He lay it on her lap. The board had letters, numbers, and colors. She pointed to the red circle whispering "dark" pointing to the drawing, she said "truck."

He wrote _"dark red truck."_ He straightened and stared out the page.

She pointed from one slash to the other saying "Chase."

He wrote _"a stranger chased you outside. Can you describe him?"_

With one hand, she ruffled her own hair. With the other she pointed to the black and gray circles on the letter board. Then she patted her arm and pointed to the white circle. Then she pointed to the five and the seven, waived above her head.

He started writing, _"You were chased into the street by a white man with black and gray hair about 5'7"."_

She coughed.

" _Was Liam there?"_

She shook her head and started rubbing her throat.

" _Did you see him that day?"_

"Going to after." She coughed again and again.

Wood glanced around and lifted the empty pitcher over her empty cup. He carried them around bed and left – presumably in search of water.

A nurse came in and walked to her bedside. Behind her, she saw Angel in the hallway.

She heard a shout and then Wood was standing in the doorway ranting at the nurse. Buffy couldn't understand over her coughs. But when Wood spoke to Angel, his words were louder, harder. His tone startled both her and the nurse who pointed to her bed and started yelling too.

Buffy held her heaving chest and spoke as loud as she could, "Angel."

The nurse turned to her with wide eyes.

Despite the coughs, Buffy called out again, "Angel!"

Angel stepped towards her, but the detective pushed him back. Angel looked like he might charge passed him, fight to get her, but as the detective kept talking and pushing, Angel lowered his arms and retreated down the hall.

The detective barked at the nurse, but the older woman snapped right back.

Detective Wood slammed the door and returned to her side.

The nurse sat in Angel's chair.

Buffy accepted the cup from him, but he'd filled it too full. Her quivering hands couldn't hold its weight. It fell onto the bed soaking her blanket.

The nurse stood, but the detective held up his hand. He said something to her and the nurse slowly sat back down.

He leaned over and pulled a packet from his bag. He tossed it onto Buffy's wet lap.

 **Temporary Restraining Order**

She recognized the document. Lindsay gave this to her the night before graduation. She'd started filling out, but after talking with Angel on the phone, she couldn't finish it. Wood thought he understood this, but he couldn't possibly. Writing Angel's name here had been the craziest thing she'd ever done.

"Mistake," she choked out.

He jabbed his notepad towards her. _"Why did the man chase you?"_

"Don't know."

" _Had you seen the truck before?"_

She shook her head and pressed her hand against her chest trying to hold in her coughs.

" _The night before, you called Liam. Did he make a threat?"_

She wheezed, "He didn't do this."

" _You didn't see who was driving the car. Could it have been Liam Angelus?"_

She picked up the cup and threw it at him.

He stepped closer and glared down at her. Behind him the nurse stood.

He leaned down and ripped the drawing from Angel's notebook. He took it, closed his laptop and stomped out.

The nurse scrambled to her side and pulled back the wet blanket and sheet.

Buffy looked at the open door expecting to see Angel waiting. He wasn't. She knew he wanted to be with her right now, but he couldn't right now . . . . but when would _**now**_ end.

Her phone had no clock, calendar or phone, and she couldn't call or crawl. She couldn't do anything but wait.

 **OoOoO**

Angel felt like shit driving away, but he didn't dare test Wood's resolve. Angel and his car needed to be somewhere else when Wood finished his interview; otherwise, Angel would be kept away more than a couple hours.

Any hope that her statement would lessen Wood's suspicion died hearing his last threats: obstructing, witness intimidation, battery of a police officer. Angel squeezed the steering wheel taking another random turn. He knew he had to leave to avoid arrest, but part of him already regretted it.

If Wood talked to her doctor, if her doctor believed him, Angel might not be allowed back. That wouldn't stop him from sneaking in, but it would complicate things.

At a stoplight, he scratched and pulled at his hair.

He kept hearing her voice calling for him. It was the loudest he'd heard her speak since waking. Above a whisper and a rasp, her voice sounded like hers again — like her voicemails.

He continued driving in circles, watching the clock, and debating how long he should stay away.

Today confirmed his own suspicion: she wasn't safe there, in a windowless room with rules are security. His apartment didn't much in the way of windows, but it had him and locks between her and the world.

He pulled his car behind an old coffee shop. He stopped himself from reaching for his phone. Old voicemails weren't even close to what he needed right now. Buffy was hurting. If she started to shut down, he could imagine Wood telling her about her parents. He'd drop that truth bomb just to get a reaction from her.

Angel had been putting off telling her himself, but he sure as hell didn't want her hearing it from anyone else — especially a hostile detective trying to provoke her.

Angel got out of his car and entered the run down shop. He ordered a black coffee and drank it in front of the windows. When he finished that cup, he ordered another. He mindlessly pat before remembering he didn't smoke anymore. He started scratching his new nicotine patch. It didn't help nearly as much as the memory of her kiss. She liked being close to him; he'd rather have a panic attack than ruin that.

He looked at his watch again. Two hours — he promised himself he'd stay gone at least two hours. That should be enough time, enough of a buffer. Anything less would risk another run-in.

Angel would've used homework to pass time, but he didn't have assignments anymore. He'd quit college. It was still early enough in the semester to withdraw without consequence.

He'd go back someday, or maybe he wouldn't.

All that mattered now was taking care of Buffy and himself. If they could have a future together, he wanted to be healthy enough to enjoy it. That meant more sleep and less smoke. It meant he should probably order a sandwich instead of functioning on coffee and adrenaline. Besides, eating would kill a few minutes.

With the vision of a scared, grieving Buffy plaguing him, he needed all the distractions he could get.

This time apart would be hell for him, but these two hours might be the worst of her life. She and her sister were the last surviving members of their immediate family. Along with distress, she'd no doubt feel shame – not on behalf of her dad – but shame about herself. Buffy had proven herself motivated and able to do anything to protect her mother, and it hadn't been enough. When Buffy learned of Joyce's murder, she'd hate herself. She'd feel like she failed her mom and by extension, Dawn too.

Angel understood. He had more cause to feel guilt over his mother's death. He knew how such shame and self-loathing could mutilate a soul. His own soul hadn't even started healing until he met Buffy. He'd spend the rest of his life recovering — just like she would.

He finished his coffee, ordered food, and tried not to tap his fingers or shake his leg with anxiety. He tried not to be anxious.

He'd need calm, determination to get back. When his watch reported exactly two hours had passed, he walked to his car. He turned on the engine and drove at a normal speed. He didn't roll through any stop signs, run any reds, or cut anyone off.

Pulling into the near empty parking lot, he looked for the detective's blue Taurus. It wasn't there; Wood wasn't here anymore. That didn't mean he hadn't left behind instructions.

Angel strode to the entrance.

He made it inside and up the stairwell without seeing anyone.

He peeked around the corner half expecting to see a guard at her door, but her dark hallway was as empty as it ever. He stepped quickly but quietly towards her room.

The door was open, but the bed was empty. He looked around the room double checking she wasn't here. He couldn't make sense of it. Dr. Post didn't do order surprise tests and testing was the only reason the staff ever moved her. They said it was too much work to have her eat with the other patients. They would have brought lunch to her room.

He turned towards the hallway uncertain where to look.

He couldn't ask any staff; they might have orders to throw them out. For that same reason, he also couldn't search populated areas, so he crept down the hall to the rarely used day-room. Through its emptiness, he heard the lunch crew cleaning the neighboring kitchen.

He continued to the restrooms. He searched them and the nook waiting-areas by the elevators and the end of the halls.

He saw patients alone and patients with spouse's — but no staff and no Buffy.

Before checking the first floor, he passed the small music room. He saw a patient by the old, out of tune piano. He paused.

From the back, he could saw only wheelchair, neck, and hat. Stepping inside and around, he recognized her. "Buffy."

She continued staring at the window. Natural light emphasized her paleness.

He crouched against the wall to look up at her. Some kindly nurse had dressed her in the knit beanie and sweater Dawn had given her. Even so, she looked cold.

He hesitantly placed a hand on her knee.

After a moment she looked at him. In a clear voice, she asked "truth or dare?"

He huffed a chuckle, "after today, I can't do much more than sit here. Truth."

She took a deep breath and asked softly, "where's mom?"

Squeezing her knee, he spoke very slowly, "the funeral I went to — it was hers."

Her eyes watered but she didn't cry or look away. She whispered, "when?"

He lifted his hand to the other knee. "The night before you woke." He hoped she accept his answer– not push for more.

But she looked at him — into him — and said, "tell me." She grabbed hold of his hand needing the contact, the comfort, but it wouldn't be enough for what he was going to say.

He nodded. "Can I hold you first?"

She leaned forward and he accepted her weight. He lifted her out of the chair and onto his lap. Hugging her close, he arranged her sweater around her.

"Angel."

"Dawn wasn't there. She went straight from Golden Hill psychiatric to Mr. Giles home. Your mom agreed to help him be named her temporary guardian."

She felt so still in his arms waiting for the evil she knew was coming.

He rubbed her arm over the sweater. "Your dad moved back into the house, but Dawn never saw him. She's safe. She's been safe from him this whole summer time." He had to say " _from him_ "; eventually, Buffy would learn about hazards Dawn faced in the psych ward. Neither Buffy nor her mother could have predicted or prevented that.

"The night before you woke, your mom packed a bag. In her purse was a bus ticket to LA. She was trying to leave him, leave everything behind." His arms wrapped tighter and her around her wanting to protect her from his words. "They fought and he shot her. The bullet killed her and later that night, your dad used the same gun to kill himself."

Her whole body shivered as if she was freezing. Through chattering teeth, she whispered, "I was only gone a couple months."

He rubbed his cheek against her hair. "Felt longer."

She continued trembling in his arms — not reaching for him or crying — just letting herself be held.

Shadow slowly stretched across the room letting him know night was coming. He wouldn't be allowed to stay overnight. Finally, the time was coming to leave – together.

He couldn't change her past or absorb her pain, but he could make sure she wasn't alone anymore.

Carefully, he stood with her in his arms.

She didn't move or make a single sound. He thought it was more shock then trust that kept her still.

He took one look at her wheelchair before deciding against it. He walked out of the music room and down the hall to the nurses' station. He met Carol's questioning gaze. "She's checking out today."

"You'll need to talk to her doctor about that. Dr. Post will be back in tomorrow."

"Carol, we're not asking. Give her something to sign or don't, but we're leaving."

"I know the interview with the detective was upsetting but –"

"Dr. Post judged she was sound of mind enough to give a statement to the police -alone, so she's sound of mind enough to sign herself out of here."

"We need –"

"She's 18 and physically stable. All you _**need**_ is to accept that this is what she wants."

Carol stepped closer. "Buffy, look at me dear."

Keeping her head against his shoulder, Buffy met the nurse's gaze.

"We want to help you recover as quickly as possible. Home is not the best place for you right now. You need to get much better — much stronger — before you can leave."

"No." Buffy lifted her head. "Let me out."

Angel felt her head rest back against him. "I'll call Dr. Post tomorrow to discuss an outpatient recovery plan."

Nurse Carol scowled at him. "This is a mistake."

"But it's hers and mine to make. Please get us paperwork that confirms she's leaving by her own free consent and with your knowledge."

Her mouth grew small and tight but she nodded and turned towards a file cabinet.

Angel carried Buffy to the nearby bench and sat down. He didn't doubt this was the right decision; he marveled he'd waited this long. How had he left her behind all those nights?

While Carol worked, another nurse rolled over wheelchair. She tried to insist they use it, but under his stony glare, her arguments melted.

Soon enough Angel was caring Buffy out of the building and setting her in his back seat. He pulled off his over shirt and wedged it between her head and the door.

She slumped down and he buckled her in. She continued to stare at nothing.

He wasted no time sitting behind the wheel and driving them away. He intentionally drove under the speed limit and checked his mirrors the whole drive. He half-expected sirens to chase them or black and whites to be waiting at the house. They hadn't broken any laws but it felt like the Powers that Be were determined to separate them.

He parked on the curb and carried her inside without incident.

Connor looked over from the couch frowning. "Angel. . ."

He continued to his old bedroom and lay her on his pillow-less bed. He kissed her forehead and whispered, "Be right back."

He walked to Jenny's room and stole two squishy pillows from the mountain on her bed.

Connor met him in the hall, "what are you doing?"

"She needs some place familiar. It's just for a little while."

"Then you'll take her back?"

"No." He frowned. "You knew I want her with me."

"Yeah, but this is kinda sudden. I mean she just woke up. Don't they need to like test her and stuff?"

"They've tested and observed enough. Mostly they left her alone in that cell of a room and dictated when I can and cannot keep her company."

Connor glared at Angel's door. "They know you took her right? You didn't just like walk out with her."Angel raised a brow and Connor blanched. "Sorry, man, geez. Just checking. I mean, I get it. It's Buffy."

Angel looked at his watch. "Where's Aunt Jen?"

"Stayed late at school. Mr. Giles is driving her home."

"And Dawn?"

"Probably still at school too, doing homework in the library."

Angel nodded and continued towards his room.

Connor called out. "She okay?"

With his hand on the doorknob, Angel sighed, "were we?"

Not waiting for an answer, Angel returned to his room and locked the door behind him.


End file.
